Family Matters
by marylinusca
Summary: Reposted. Christmas Story December 1943 Kinch gets disturbing news from home, and the men recieve a disturbing assignment from London.
1. A Marriage is Announced

Explanations:

This is an expanded version of the story I submitted in November, 2001. [Reposted August 2003] When I read Patti and Marg's story "Game Preserver" and noticed that their tale occurred the evening before the last part of my own, I daydreamed that the men had told it to my Doktor Falke when she visited them. She was charmed by it; but asked them "What happened to the toys that Schultz made before his factory was taken over?" I asked Patti that question. She and Marg permitted me to find an answer.

I hope they will take kindly to what I've written, as I hope the reader will as well. Praise and constructive criticism are welcome, if not always appreciated.

While searching my imagination for a narrative, I also came up with an 'Interlude'. Not wishing to toss it aside, it's here too, with a few explanatory words at its end. They break the flow of the story, but they must be in there.

I decided to keep the title "Family Matters" since the expansion also concerns a family matter.

Disclaimers:

 Those characters who appeared in the television series "Hogan's Heroes" are not mine, they belong to Bing Crosby Productions and whoever owns that now. Although I have taken some licence with some aspects of their characters and histories, I hope I have been faithful to them. At least I've been faithful to them as I think they were.

Those who did not appear in either the television series, in Patti and Marg's story "Game Preserver", or in real life are entirely my creation and entirely fictional.

Family Matters Chapter 1: 'A marriage is announced…' 

**Late November, 1943.**

_"I wish the guys would stop taking their own sweet time coming back."_ Sergeant James Ivan Kinchloe sighed as he turned over another page of his book. He didn't mind being left behind to watch over the tunnel system – at least, he would never admit to anyone but himself that he did mind – but he wanted to get at least two consecutive hours sleep just once during this war.

Yawning, he put down his book, rose from his cot and stretched as much of his six foot two inch frame as he could without hitting the 'ceiling' of the tunnel.

As he patted his shirt pocket for his cigarettes, Kinchloe felt a wad of paper. Pulling it out, his lips curved in a smile. With all the preparations for tonight's mission, he had forgotten to read the letter he had received this morning.  He peered at the lettering and his smile broadened. It was from Jessie.

"Just in time, Sis. I was beginning to feel sorry for myself again," he said silently to her. Opening the envelope, he drew out the letter.

"Only three pages this time. And not as heavily censored as the last one." He remembered Newkirk's wager: whoever had the most deletions in his letter from home would receive a genuine autographed picture of Hitler. Well, Newkirk didn't say that the autograph was genuine, just the picture. And it did make a nice dartboard.

Kinch touched the picture almost affectionately. It, and the darts, had relieved a lot of his frustration about staying behind because he didn't 'look German'. His black skin disqualified him from participating in certain missions. He didn't like that, but what could he do about it? He had learned from hard experience to make the best life he could with what he had. _And it's been a pretty fair life so far_, he thought.

He had the best sister in the world waiting for him back home. What other lively, intelligent young woman would've put up with her big brother bossing her about since she was twelve?

Yeah, she spoke her mind. _"Why won't you let me do this or that? Why won't you let me stay out late with my friends? Why are you so overprotective, James? Who do you think you are, running my life?"_ He'd just reply, _"I'm your older brother, Jess and you're all I've got."_ She'd calm right down, kiss his cheek and say, _"All right. This time. For you. But stop treating me like a child. I may resent it."_

Dear Jessie.  For all her brains and spunk, she still didn't know how horrible the world was. James Kinchloe prayed she'd never know all the things he had done to keep a roof over their heads since their mother's death.

He and Jess had had a fine mother, and a fine grandmother. No matter how hard Mamma worked, she still found time and strength to listen to their chatter, tell them stories and help them work through their problems. Grandmamma made sure they knew both cleanliness and godliness intimately. She, and therefore they, seemed to be constantly on their knees, either praying or scrubbing. She had refused to slacken her standards. "You're from good stock, you two. Hold your heads high, master yourselves and use your minds to do the Lord good service."

"I haven't been godly, Grandmamma; but I know godliness when I've seen it, thanks to you." Sergeant Kinchloe looked around the cold, gloomy tunnel. "Never have I needed your lessons and inspiration more than here and now."

He sat down on the stool behind his radio. Instinctively, he ran his eyes over the apparatus to assure himself that it was still in working order, as he had done every night for over two years. Then, he began to read the letter:

"Dearest Jamie:

"I miss you very much and wish we were together again. I don't understand why you have not escaped by now. You were never a man who let other men bind you and keep you in a cage. But I know you have a good reason for all that you do or don't do, so I won't worry about you – at least, not much. Just stay healthy and come home as soon as you can.

"Right now I have an even greater reason to wish you back with me. Tom is going overseas _[censored]. _ You remember I told you about Tom Harris?"

_In every letter for the last six months, _James Kinchloe thought. _Something tells me I'm not going to like reading further._

"We're going to be married during his Christmas furlough. I love him, Jamie.  He's the one man I want to marry, since I can't marry you. You'll like him. I know you will.

"I know you'll fret. You think no man's good enough for me. You'll say, _"Does she really know this man or has infatuation blinded her."_ Brothers are like that, and you are the best of brothers. My strong protector. My big brother James. My dear brother James, who has always looked out for me, even when I said I could take care of myself.

"Please understand, Jamie. I love him. I'll always be your sister, and you are dearer to me than my life, but I'm not a little girl anymore.

"I'm sorry if this makes you sad.  You've always taken my worries on your shoulders along with your own. It wasn't fair. You should've let me carry my share. I am being brave now, and I'm older (hopefully wiser); but I miss you. We've always been together and looked out for each other, especially after Mamma died. When you went overseas, every room seemed empty without you, until Tom came into my life. He couldn't fill every space; but when he goes, it will be even emptier.

Remember how you'd make me do my homework the moment we cleared supper from the table? There you were, dead tired after working so hard, washing up the dishes and making me recite equations or irregular verbs. You wouldn't even let me go out Friday nights until I had my homework done to your satisfaction. I thought you were such a killjoy. But it meant that I got the scholarship, and the degree we worked so hard for. When I held that parchment, I just wanted to put it in your hands.  I'll never forget it belongs to us both.  I know you sacrificed your dreams after Mamma died, so that I could have a good education. You worked so hard to keep a roof over our heads. Jamie, whatever I am or become, I owe to you. 

You haven't lost any of my love. My heart's grown twice as big – to hold both you and Tom.

Stay safe, and come home to me soon, Jamie.  Please.

Your Jessie.

Kinchloe crumpled the letter between his hands. He knew it had to happen. It was inevitable that Jessie would love another man and marry him. But he did not know this man. He was not there to vet him. He, whose job involved assessing every prisoner coming into Stalag Thirteen for the sake of the operation, could not assess Lieutenant Tom Harris for something just as vital to him – his sister's happiness.

He moaned against the pain crushing his chest. He was not there to approve Jessie's choice. And he was not there to walk her down the aisle and resign her to him.

James Ivan Kinchloe thought of his father, long dead in the trenches in France. He had just turned six years old when he became the only 'man' of the house. Jessie had been little more than a baby. She didn't remember being lifted high in their father's arms. He did. He remembered his father's laughing eyes and the way he held her. He remembered his charge to him, "Watch over your sister until I get back from the war."

Naturally, his mother and grandmother were the ones who watched over them. But he had watched over Jessie. When both ladies – they were 'ladies' to him, not 'women' – when they died, he and his sister were left with a little more money than they had debts. He had left high school to earn their living and to keep them together; giving up his dreams of a scholarship so that Jessie could attain the best place she could get in the world.

He didn't regret that overmuch. Jessie was the genius in the family. He had worked her hard at her books, perhaps to satisfy his residual regrets about his lost dreams, but they had grown very close and very dear to each other after their mother's death. They understood each other so well, that, when they heard the news of Kristallnacht – the wide scale looting and destruction of Jewish shops and synagogues in Germany in 1938 – all Jessie had said to him was, "Whatever you decide to do, Jamie, I'll back you all the way."

He had not made the decision lightly. He knew what their father's death had cost their mother and grandmother. He knew too well what it had cost him and his sister. He did not want Jessie to bear another devastating burden because of him. He worked out more strenuously than ever, organized their finances, taught her how to budget, prepared them both in every way so he could serve with few regrets when the time came. When it did, he went overseas with his sister's kisses on his face and her love in his heart.

When he was shot down and brought here to Stalag Thirteen, his first thought had been relief to be alive for her sake as much as for his own.

When Colonel Hogan broached his scheme of creating a rescue and sabotage operation within the prisoner of war camp, James Kinchloe had thought long about accepting the assignment. If he did, he would not return home until either the war or the assignment was over. It was quite possible he would not return at all. Was it worth putting Jessie through the long separation? Was it worth putting her through the ignominy of hearing her beloved brother referred to as a coward or worse? She could not know why he did not escape. Would she too think the worst of him? Was it worth putting her through the sort of grief their mother had borne should he be killed?

He decided that his involvement in the colonel's operation was worth all that. Had he therefore failed his father's charge to him? Had he failed Jessie by not returning home to protect her? Had he lost the dearest person in his life because of his commitment to serve his country?

***

"Kinch?"

Sergeant Kinchloe looked up from his letter. Carter stood on the other side of the radio table, twisting his cap between his hands.

"When did you get back?"

"Five minutes ago. Colonel Hogan and the guys are changing clothes. The colonel said I shouldn't disturb you while you were reading your letter; but I saw the look on your face and wondered if you were all right. Are you?"

Kinchloe managed a weak smile. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Carter looked sceptical. "Are you sure?"

A blaze of anger inflamed him. "Yeah. I'm sure. Just because you once saved my life, Carter, don't think you own it."

The young man's eyes widened. His face went white. "I – I'm sorry, Kinch."

He turned to leave, but the older man grasped his arm.

"No. No. I'm sorry, Carter. I'm the one out of line."

Carter's eyes widened further, until they appeared round as saucers. Kinch seldom apologized. He seldom had to. _And to me yet! _

"How did the mission go?" Sergeant Kinchloe asked, wearily passing his hand over his eyes.

"It went o.k."

For once, Carter did not elaborate. Usually, given the least encouragement, he would natter on and on with a detailed technical description of the explosion, of his choice of explosives and his method of rigging the charges. Now, he just stood silent, studying his comrade-in-arms.

Kinchloe did not look up at him but sat at the radio table, his head bowed in his hands.

"Kinch?"

"I don't want to discuss it, Carter.  Please.  Leave me be."

Carter lowered his eyes. "Sure. Whatever you want. Do – do you want me to get the Colonel?"

The black sergeant shook his head. "No." He looked up, into Carter's eyes. "Do me a favour? Don't mention this to him, or to the other guys."

"What-whatever you want.  Is there…?"

Kinch looked up, into Carter's concerned blue eyes. "No. Nothing. But – thanks all the same, Andrew."

+++

"Kinch," Colonel Hogan clapped his radioman on the shoulder. "How about getting your revenge in another chess match? Your losing streak is due to end."

Sergeant Kinchloe looked up from his clasped hands. "Is that a request or an order, sir?"

The colonel's smile faded. "It's a request, Kinch. Never an order." He looked down at the bowed figure seated at the mess table. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Colonel."

"My door's always open."

"I know that, sir; but I'm fine. I just don't feel I could challenge you tonight."

Hogan exhaled. "O.K. Suit yourself. You will tell me when you are ready?"

"You'll be the first to know, sir."

Carter looked up from his crossword puzzle. He stared anxiously at Kinch. Then, with a determined expression, he rose to his feet.  "Colonel, could I see you privately?"

Kinchloe gave his fellow sergeant a sharp look. Carter flushed and ducked his head.

The interchange did not pass unnoticed by their commanding officer. He motioned Carter inside his office and shut the door.

"O.k., Carter. What happened between you and Kinch?"

Carter squirmed.  "I promised Kinch I wouldn't tell."

Hogan crossed his arms. "But you want to tell." He paused. "Out with it, Carter! When he lets me win for two weeks straight, something's very wrong. What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, Colonel!" Carter insisted. "All I know is that he hasn't been the same man since he got a letter from his sister."

The colonel rubbed his chin. "Family troubles?"

"I don't know what's in the letter. No one does. He hasn't opened up to anyone. Not to Marcus Simms. Not even to LeBeau."

"If he hasn't confided in his closest friends, then something is wrong."

 "He just sits there with that sad look on his face. Like he's shrunk inside himself. I want to help him. He's helped me solve my problems lots of times; but I don't know what to do. I'm too stupid."

"You've tried to talk to him?"

"Well, if he won't talk to you – and he really respects you, Colonel – why would he talk to me?  I – I thought maybe…" The young man hesitated.

"Maybe…?"

"Maybe he'd talk to Doktor Falke.  Colonel, I know she's out of bounds and you hate her; but – but she and Kinch always got along well."

His commanding officer grimaced, and then heaved a sigh.

"Carter, I don't hate Marlena Falke. She's out of bounds because I don't want her caught in any traps Hochstetter's laid out for us. She's got some stupid, naïve opinions about war and what we do here. I don't like being called a warmonger; but she's a brave woman and I know she's helped us several times."

"Then will you let us visit her? Or let her visit us? Just once? If you can't get Kinch to open up, maybe she can.  She's a woman, sir. Maybe she'd understand whatever it was Kinch's sister wrote him and help him through it."

Carter watched expectantly while Colonel Hogan thought his question over.

"No. It's too much of a risk. Hochstetter's been buzzing around here too often and I want Marlena to stay alive." He blew out his breath. "I want all of us to stay alive." He looked down and slowly rolled a pencil across his desk with his forefinger. "And yet Kinch's worry has been affecting his work. It's been affecting our morale as well, seeing him like this." He tsked. "I don't know, Carter. Kinch is a very intelligent man. Maybe he can work through his troubles on his own."

"Yes, sir." Carter sounded unconvinced.

Both men sat in silent thought. A sudden clang and a metallic clatter aroused them, followed by shouts and a torrent of imprecations delivered by their chef, Corporal LeBeau, in rapid French.

Hogan and Carter rushed to open the door. The colonel got there first.

Carter peered over his shoulder and gaped. A steaming puddle of stew oozed from a spilled saucepan across the wooden floor of their barracks; but what astounded him was the sight of LeBeau screaming abuse at Kinch – screaming at Kinch of all people! Those two men were as close to each other as he was to Newkirk. And Kinch was shouting back just as savagely.

Newkirk looked at them open-mouthed from across the room. Colonel Hogan caught the English airman's eye. He motioned him into his office with a jerk of his head.

"I didn't do a thing to either of them this time, Guv'nor."

"I know you didn't, Newkirk. What set them off?"

"LeBeau said something to Kinch I didn't catch. I wasn't really listening. Then Kinch said something. Then LeBeau said something and Kinch replied, "I wish people would mind their own business and leave me alone." The LeBeau got all excited and knocked the pan off the stove. I can't believe it, Colonel! I don't know what they're saying to each other; but… I just can't believe my eyes and ears!"

Colonel Hogan looked at Carter. Carter looked back hopefully.  The colonel heaved a sigh. "Get into civilian clothes. Bring Doktor Falke in through the emergency tunnel."

He turned to Newkirk. "Get into the tunnel through Wilson's trap in Barracks Five. Kinch won't be going down there while he's still quarrelling with LeBeau. Use the switchboard to call the doctor. Tell her 'Herr Loewen' is ill and 'Herr Weiss' is on his way to fetch her. Use a fake voice. She'll know who's calling when you mention those names."

"What are you going to tell LeBeau and Kinch when they see Carter's missing?" asked Newkirk.

"I won't need to because they won't ask. Right now, they're full of spleen. Later, they'll feel too miserable. Just put the call through and get back here before Kinch goes downstairs to cool off."

"Right, sir. On my way." Newkirk hurried out the door, with Carter right behind him.

Colonel Hogan leaned against the upright of his bunk and looked out the half opened door. LeBeau's and Kinchloe's barrack mates stood around them, listening to their quarrel in stunned disbelief.

He rubbed his chin, deeply disturbed. This was not like his calm, self-controlled radioman. Sure, Kinch had withdrawn inside himself at times.  Sure, he occasionally made a sarcastic remark to Carter when the young airman was being particularly dunderheaded; but never before had he lashed out as venomously as he just did to LeBeau.

Hogan heaved another sigh. What he had told Carter was true.  He did not hate Marlena Falke, but she was disconcerting, argumentative, stubborn and he despised her pacifist convictions.  He endured her in his tunnel only because she had become something like an older sister to Carter and because he had promised Kinch they would protect her.  She had repaid them by doing as much for their operation as her conscience permitted her to do. If she could restore his sergeant's equilibrium, he would own up to owing her the greater debt and he would willingly pay it.

+++

Kinch looked up from his clipboard as Carter poked his head through the entrance from the emergency tunnel. Raising his forefinger, the radioman jotted down the conclusion of the message he just received and transmitted his acknowledgement of it.

"Where have you been?" he mildly inquired as he removed his headphones.

Carter heaved a great sigh of relief. That quarrel with LeBeau must've released a lot of pent up bitterness, he thought. Kinch could shrivel a man with his caustic tongue. All along the way back, Carter had dreaded hearing the words his colleague might use when venting his rage on him.

"I brought something for you."

"Not another rabbit!" Kinch exclaimed, referring to the time when Newkirk and Carter had released a hare in the tunnel as a joke. The scare he got when the animal jumped on the radio table had nearly stopped his heart. Worse, Herr Hare's hind foot got caught between the wireless key and the sounding board. In its effort to escape, the frantic animal tore the key from the board and severely damaged the radio. It had taken the entire night to fix it. The only benefit he had received from their prank was that Colonel Hogan made those two clowns do all his household chores for six weeks.

Carter laughed. "No. Not a rabbit. Something better." He carefully unfastened his jacket. Kinchloe looked at him, a little alarmed. What sort of little creature had his colleague brought into the tunnel this time? A bird? A snake?

The younger sergeant drew out a large, red apple. "I stopped in at Doktor Falke's and she gave us each one, as a Christmas gift. She was saving them for us and she said she wouldn't feel very charitable to us later on, the next time we blew up people, so she thought we should enjoy them now."

"Kind of her," Kinch said drily.  "I thought she was out of bounds to us."

"She is." Carter handed over the apple.  "I ate mine. This one's yours. She said 'Assure Sergeant Kinchloe it's not poisoned.' I guess it isn't. I'm still here."

"You certainly are." Kinchloe took a bite, then he scrutinized the apple. "It tastes like a MacIntosh," he said in surprise. "Where did Doktor Falke get a Mac apple in Germany?"

"From a MacIntosh apple tree, Herr Kinchloewen." Doktor Marlena Falke stood framed in the doorway of the radio room. "The trees are still here, despite the war. They're called something else now – Fuehrer Baumen or some such nonsense.  Like Herr Weiss tells me they call wieners 'Liberty sausages' in America," she said, nodding to Carter.

"Doktor Fledermaus! Welcome!" Kinch rose and came over to her. He took both her hands in his as he bent down to kiss her cheek. "I thought after that self satisfied jackass's hints about us, the Colonel placed you out of bounds for your own safety."

" 'Unsung heroes in a German prisoner of war camp'." Doktor Falke quoted the headline of war correspondent Walter Hobson's article. "I thought it was your operation's safety that concerned your colonel, not mine."

"The 'Merry Major' Hochstetter has been sniffing around here like a demented hound. You can't blame Colonel Hogan worrying that he'll sniff out your true nationality and your connection to us."

"No, I can't blame him for that. I don't want the Gestapo to find out I'm a Canadian." Doktor Falke grimaced. "Or was a Canadian. Back home, they still think I'm a traitor."

"We're working on that, Doktor. Don't worry about it," Sergeant Kinchloe gently chided.

"Your colonel does not care for pacifists, gentlemen."

"He cares for one, Doktor Falke. You've been a good friend to us this past year," He squeezed her hands. "So, I repeat: why are you here?"

"Herr Weiss – I'm sorry Andrew. I keep getting your personae mixed up when you're not in uniform. – Sergeant Carter fetched me. He said that you were unwell and that your colonel approved my visit."

"Car-ter!" Kinch growled.

"Well, you've been shutting yourself away down here. You won't say more than two words to any of us – not even to the colonel – and London's been complaining through the underground that you keep asking them to repeat transmissions."

Doktor Falke raised her eyebrows. "You? Absent minded? That is bad."

"So I suggested to Colonel Hogan that maybe talking to a woman might cheer you up. You and Doktor Falke get along so well."

"And he agreed?" Kinchloe sounded sceptical. His colonel and the Mennonite physician seldom got along. They could not agree on the time, let alone the war.

Carter nodded.

"That is bad." Kinch gave him a weak smile, and the message he had transcribed. "O.k. Carter. You win. I'll unburden myself and let Doktor Falke prescribe for me, but only if you go upstairs and don't listen in."

"Sure. Anything for tranquility." He waved the sheet of paper at them and scampered away.

Kinch shook his head. "That boy! 'Anything for tranquility'. I didn't know he knew the word."

Doktor Falke smiled. The sergeant escorted her to his stool. She seated herself and arranged her skirt over her knee. "So, Herr Kinchloewen?"

"One moment, Doktor." Kinchloe held up his hand for silence. "My colonel's quite a man; but he is manipulative. Especially with us." He pulled a switch. The electric light above their heads went out. In the dim light of the kerosene lamps, Doktor Falke saw the sergeant take a pair of wire cutters and snip a wire running up the central support beam of the radio room. "This line runs to his office. We used it once when we kidnapped a field marshal and I never got around to disconnecting it."

"Sergeant Kinchloe, you spoke about him before you shut off the power."

"I know. I wanted him to hear that part of my confession. You see, I knew Colonel Hogan before we were shot down. I admire him; but I'm under no illusions about his character."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Don't get me wrong, milady. You haven't converted me. My opinions still agree with his.

"Understood. Now, why was I sent for?"

Kinchloe paused, to gather his thoughts and suppress his emotions. The dim light made it a little less difficult – an ideal light for confidences or evasions. He sat on the cot. Marlena leaned toward him. Taking his right hand, she held it between her palms. He stiffened, but he did not pull back.

"My sister is getting married Christmas week."

"And you are here."

"And I am here."

"And you have not told your colonel."

"And I don't intend to. Everyone's fussing over me as it is. Bringing you into this." He heaved a sigh. "Doktor, I'm committed for the duration. I don't like deserting my sister. I don't like lying to her. We've been all in all to each other for years. I don't like not knowing anything about the man she says she loves. If my work here was done and I could escape to her this minute, I would. But the work's not done and I won't leave until it is."

"Even if you cannot concentrate on it?"

"I will. It just takes more time." He closed his eyes, and repeated, "It just takes more time."

"Grief does take time to pass, dear mein Herr," Doktor Falke said gently. "But you must let yourself grieve a very long time, and you cannot. Your work lies in the way."

She put her hand to his cheek to stop his protest. "I don't speak against what you do. Not at this time. But your jealousy, your concern for your sister and your sense of duty tear you apart inside. You are jealous of your sister's betrothed.  Come, come, Sergeant Kinchloe. Admit it, dear mein Herr. You fear he has usurped your place as the first man in her heart."

Kinch sighed. "If she loves him, then it's his right."

"'If she loves him.' Listen to your own words. She does love him. She will marry him. For better, for worse, nothing will be the same between you and your sister again. That's why you are full of grief – so full that you groan in agony. And like the wounded lion of the story, Herr Kinchloewen, you lash out at your friends who seek to pull the thorn from your paw. Perhaps you want to lash out at your sister too?"

"Doktor," Kinch growled. "Don't say such a thing to me again."

"I've known you for almost a year, mein Herr. I know that you are a very wise, clear-sighted man. Lash out at me too, if you must; but turn your clear eyes upon yourself. Let there be no pretence between your mind and your heart."

She waited in silence, her heart full of sympathy for him. She could not like the work he did; but she greatly admired the man. She admired his strong, compassionate courage as much as she admired his keen intellect. To her, he was indeed 'ein Loewen' – a Lion – one with a loyal, loving heart behind those piercing, steady brown eyes.

Then the hand she held suddenly tightened its grip around hers. "Jessie!" Kinchloe groaned; his eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, Jessie, why!"

"Mein liebe Freund." She pressed his hand between hers. "Dear, dear mein Herr."

Kinch looked up at her, his face creased in agony.  "I knew she would marry someday, Doktor; but I wanted to know the man. I wanted to approve of him, so that it would be easier to give her up." He shook his head. "No, not to give her up. To share her with him. Doktor, she's all I have left."

He pulled his hand from Doktor Falke's and covered his face. The doctor moved beside him on the cot. She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close to her, rocking him. He circled his arms around her waist and wept into the hollow of her throat.

"It's all right, dear mein Herr. It's all right. Cry out your heart, Herr Kinchloewen. There's no one here but me, and I will never tell." She gently laughed. "I'll even swear to it, if you like."

Kinch managed a weak smile. "You told me when we first met that Mennonites don't swear oaths."

"Because God would require us to keep them. 'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.' But I would keep that oath, mein Herr. I would not be taking His name in vain."

Kinch relaxed against her and closed his eyes.

"Vielen Danke, meine Freundin; but your word is sufficient. I will not put you at risk of divine retribution."

"Danke und bitte sehr, mein liebe Freund." She rocked him gently in her arms. "Herr Kinchloewen, do you trust your sister?"

"Of course I do."

"With your life, yes. But with her life?"

Kinch looked up at her. "I get the message. I should trust my sister's choice, sight unseen."

"A hard thing for you to do, I know. Your life here depends on your dis-trust of men."

"Not just here. I learned distrust at an early age. But what if she chose the wrong man?"

"Do you hope she chose the wrong man so that she'll love you best? Herr Kinchloewen, be the generous man you are. Do not sabotage your sister's life by turning her away from her husband."

"Doktor, she was all I had to love."

"Was she, mein Herr? You still have her. She is still your sister. And you have friends here – very good friends. I envy you them.  My sister died stillborn. My friends, if I still have any, are at least an ocean and a battlefront away. It is almost 1944 and I have not heard from them since 1939."

"LeBeau and I – we held quite a slanging match. Insults at ten paces and in two languages. I doubt he'll forgive the things I said."

"Not forgive the man who watched over him day and night when he lay injured? He forgives you already, or he will when he has calmed himself. Your friendship is too strong to break over a few heated words."

She looked steadily at him. "You will forgive Andrew, will you not? He told me he broke his word to you when he told your colonel why he thought you were not yourself.  You good opinion means the world to him; but your peace of mind means even more.  Andrew is very dear to me, Herr Kinchloewen. Please forgive him."

"I have already, long before you came in. After I ranted at LeBeau, I realized that I was close to losing it completely. Carter's a good man. A wise man in some respects.  A far better friend than I deserve."

"I do envy you your friends."

Kinch enclosed her hands in his. "They're also your friends. I'm also your friend. Why envy me?"

"Because I cannot be with you. You see your friends every day. I've seen neither you nor them since Major Hochstetter read that man's article and started looking your way. I think of you here and I miss all of you very much.  _["And I'm afraid for all of you,"_ she silently added. _"So very much afraid."]_

"I even miss your colonel, even though he despises me," Doktor Falke continued.  "I know he'll be glad when he can finally discharge his promise and ship me to London free and clear." Her lips twisted in a wry smile. "I guess that is why I do miss him. Despite what I've called him, he insists on keeping his promise."

"He misses you too and so do we.  He's too smug and conceited when you're not around to needle him." Then, more seriously, Kinch said, "Colonel Hogan does miss you. He thinks one or two of your misguided notions are not so misguided."

"Really?  Which ones?" She smiled but she thought, _Talking about his colonel would distract him from pondering and brooding for a while. We'll try that out. Maybe when he comes back to his sad thoughts, they will not have such power over him._

"The one about acting out your faith. Doktor, I've seen lots of people going around caring only about what happens to themselves. They plod through life like a milk horse wearing blinkers. They see just enough of the road they're on. They don't want to see what they pass along the way.

"Sometimes when I think of  'conchies', or when the colonel says what he thinks of 'conchies', I see that milk horse. Too much of a coward to turn his head because if he did, he'd see people suffering. If he saw, he'd have to get involved and he doesn't want to.

"But you're different. You came here on your own before the war and you got involved with helping free people. Now you're stuck here, but you still try to help in your own way. You're not just mouthing words, Doktor. That's what impresses the colonel. It's what impressed me."

Doktor Falke shook her head. "I'm not different, mein Herr. I wish I could wear the blinkers. I'd like to forget and pretend I don't see what I see.  Before the war began, and before you and Sergeant Carter brought Corporal LeBeau into my surgery, I tried to shut my eyes and pretend.

"But my conscience kept bothering me. God gave me gifts and so I'm responsible to Him how I use them. I've studied how to heal people. I've acquired skills. I'm not allowed to forget and pretend."

She sighed. "I'm not a saint, Sergeant Kinchloe. I'm driven to do what I do."

Kinch nodded. "I'm driven too. I've lived thorough things that would scare you or any decent person.  I don't want them to happen to other people. That's why I have to fight the guys doing the tormenting."

"The colonel's driven too," he continued. "What we do is not all fun and games to him.  I don't know all that drives him; but he's driven to win the war and he's driven to get you home and get you the right to be heard in an unbiased court of law."

"I am grateful to him for that." She put her right hand over his. "And I am grateful to you for holding him to it."

Sergeant Kinchloe leaned his head against the base of her throat and closed his eyes. "Getting back to my selfishness toward my sister, what do you prescribe for it, Doktor Fledermaus?"

Doktor Falke smiled at his teasing nickname for her. _'Doktor Fledermaus.' 'Doctor Bat.' _She had seen few theatrical performances. Her religion frowned upon play going, especially if the play was frivolous. But that operetta was her favourite. She had seen it as a young medical student in Toronto. Its lilting music and its silliness had captivated her as well as the similarity of her name with that of the title character. _And now I have another reason to like it_, she thought, curling her hand around Sergeant Kinchloe's right thumb.

They remained linked in silent thought for several minutes.

"Is Corporal Newkirk's sister married, mein Herr?"

"I don't know. Newkirk doesn't like to speak much of home. If he talks about it, he has to think about it. If he thinks about it…."  His voice died away.

"He has to think of the air raids. Of his sister caught in an air raid." Marlena finished.

"Yeah." Kinch sighed. "I think his sister is married. You think I should talk to him? That maybe he felt the way I feel now when his Mavis broke the news to him?"

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I guess I don't want to admit I'm hurting. Stupid, isn't it? It's so obvious that I am."

"Will you do it then?"

"I wish I could; but I'm too afraid to let down my guard. Newkirk and I…. He's a great guy; but he has this idiotic notion that we're competitors. 'Anything you can do, I can do better.' Particularly when it comes to impressing Colonel Hogan."

"Are you?"

"No. There is no 'second officer' on our team, Doktor.  I do certain jobs and he does certain jobs. One of mine just happens to be operations manager."

"As you say. You knew your colonel 'from before', therefore he knew you 'from before'. He'd naturally lean upon the man he's trusted longer. But confiding in Corporal Newkirk would – 'give him an edge' – over you?"

"Right. I guess I'm still too wary of giving anyone who considers me his adversary an advantage over me."

"Well then, I guess the only physic I can offer is that you write to your sister, telling her that you love her and that you wish her and her betrothed every happiness. I know it is bitter medicine in your state of mind; but you have to resolve the matter somehow. Either you accept him gracefully or you make your sister choose between the two men she loves. You would make her very unhappy, and you might be the man she gives up."

Kinchloe grimaced. "It is bitter; but you're right. I can't afford to harbour animosity toward a man because Jessie loves him. Not when it affects my job. But Doktor Fledermaus, my heart hurts so bad."

Marlena touched his cheek. "May the good God ease it, then. My prayers will be for you."

He reached up and took her hand in his. "Thank you.  You are the best of physicians, and the best of friends."

"Oh, I share the latter honour with the men above our heads." Marlena smiled. "If you cannot confide in them, at least bask in their affection for you. It may ease your heartache a little, Herr Kinchloewen."

"I'll think it over." He looked at his watch and sighed. "I suppose you must get back to your cottage before daybreak and I better tell the colonel his radioman hasn't lost all his marbles." Kinch reluctantly rose and threw the switch. The light above the radio table re-lit. He helped Doktor Falke to her feet and they walked arm in arm through the tunnel to Barracks Two.

"Doktor Fledermaus, when will you call me 'Kinch' again?"

"When you cease to be a soldier, Sergeant Kinchloe. I see your colonel at the shaft to your barracks." Standing on tiptoe, she brushed his cheek with her lips. "Go write your letter, dear mein Herr, and let me deal with him."

The sergeant held her close and kissed her cheek in return. "The best and dearest of physicians. Thank you." Saluting his colonel, he turned on his heel and walked back to the radio room.

Colonel Hogan gazed at him, a slight smile hovering on his lips. _His step is a little lighter and his head's held a little higher. Kinch begins to look a little like his old self._

"Fraulein Doktor, I wanted to speak to him. Why did you send him away?"

She ignored his question. "Colonel, I should return home.  Sergeant Carter hinted that tomorrow will be a busy day for all of us."

"Hinted, Doktor Falke?  He didn't give you our entire itinerary?"

"No. Just a warning to expect casualties. I should get some sleep, so that my mind will be alert to prepare for them." She paused. "Colonel Hogan, may Corporal Newkirk escort me home?"

The colonel turned to her in surprise. "Newkirk? Not Carter?"

"Corporal Newkirk, please. It's important that it be him."

"Has it got something to do with Kinch?"

Doktor Falke did not speak.

"Doktor, I do care about Kinch."

"Do you respect his right to privacy?"

Colonel Hogan glared at her.  She faced him back with a look that said, _"Prove to me that you care that much about him."_

To her surprise, he backed down. "Very well. Newkirk it is. And I won't pry any secrets out of him that you or Kinch want kept."

"Thank you, Colonel Hogan," she replied with only a trace of mockery in her voice.

He gave her a trace of a smile in return. "I'd walk you home myself, only Klink's scheduled a bed check later tonight.  He gets cranky if he has to lose his beauty sleep looking for me."

"I thought he got cranky when he could not play hide and seek with you.  Doesn't he long to trip you up in your tricks?"

Colonel Hogan chuckled. "Doktor, I used to think you were a starched and sober spinster. No humour at all. That tiny streak of dry wit becomes you."  He grew serious. "I know you won't believe me, but I am sorry about what we put you through."

"I'm sorry about what you put others through.  You're right, Colonel. I don't believe you."

"I'm still sorry, Doktor. I am a manipulator, and you shouldn't trust me; but I am grateful to you for all you've done for us, particularly for Kinch.

"Sergeant Kinchloe is under strain. He exaggerated. Please, Colonel. Don't hold a grudge against him."

Hogan smiled down at her. "I don't. Kinch is on the mark now as always. I love to manipulate men. It's my trade and I'm very good at it.  I'm glad Kinch is wary of me.  If he blinded himself to my faults, we'd be dead long ago. It's because he is wary of me that we're still alive and active.

 "Not long ago I met a woman much like you, Doktor Falke. A scientist. We were teamed up together – or, rather, London made her the one in charge of that particular assignment."

"That must've hurt your pride."

"It did. She might've hurt it to the point where it would cost us the mission we shared. However, my loyal and constant pain in the backside, Fraulein Doktor Marlena Falke, had got to my pride before her. You showed me how petulant I can be when I realize the lady has a fine brain and knows how to use it.  Learning from you, I learned to respect her. The mission was a success, and I owe you my thanks." He crooked an eyebrow at her. "If it's any consolation to you, our mutual friend in the radio room seemed quite delighted when she deflated my hot air balloon."

"Yeah, I thought you'd be pleased by that," he added, seeing her suddenly grin. He ruffled her hair. "Watch out, Doktor Pacifist. Your halo's slipping."

The doctor shook her head. "Colonel Hogan, why is it that I can't really hate you?"

"Same reason I can't really hate you. We're both human beings."

+++

"She won't tell you what's wrong with him; but we both know she's not good at subterfuge.  Any little pearls that drop from her lips, you pick up."

"And deliver to you, sir?"

"I promised that I wouldn't pry.  But, if you offer them to me voluntarily…"

Newkirk grinned. "You are a sly fox, sir."

Colonel Hogan shook his head. "I'm a manipulator. Right now, I'm disgusted with myself for being one.  Kinch is entitled to his own secrets."

"It's for his own good, sir.  We can't let him go on like this."

"And the operation can't function if we do.  Get back here as soon as you safely can. I may have a job for you and Marcus Simms to do later."

+++

_"Well, Doktor, when are you going to tell me what you kept me out of me bed to hear?"_ Peter Newkirk grumbled to himself as he walked beside her through the woods.

They had been walking together in silence for some distance, hand in hand like a pair of young lovers to fool any passing patrol. Of course, they had to show their identification papers at the checkpoints.  Most of the checkpoint guards knew Doktor Falke from meeting her on her rounds, so they checked them through with only a cursory glance at the papers. Newkirk kept his hand close to his Luger, just in case. He and his forgery crew were remarkable, but no one was perfect and there was too much at stake.

"Corporal –."

" 'Pieter', Liebchen. Remember?"

"Pieter. Enshuldigun und danke." Doktor Falke licked her upper lip, nervous. "Pieter, is your sister married?"

Newkirk frowned. "Widowed."

"Oh. I am sorry." 

"It's all right, angel. Does it affect what you wanted from me?"

"Maybe. I'm asking you to do something personal. If you don't want to…"

"It's for Kinch, isn't it?  Then, of course I want to do it.  Just tell me what it is."

Doktor Falke hung her head. "If you're grieving for your sister's loss …"

"Don't worry about that. Wes was with the B.E.F. in Belgium when the Krauts blitzed through in 1940. You know that poem, 'In Flanders' fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row…?'"

"Every schoolchild in Canada recites it every November 11th."

"Is that so?  Well, that's where Wes is buried. Same location.  Same enemy.  Different war.  It really hurt Mav, what with the baby and mum and granny and keeping the home fires burning for me, but she's a game girl.  Always was."

Newkirk turned to Doktor Falke. "How does it help Kinch?  No. I know you promised him not to tell. I mean, where do Mavis and I come in?"

"When Mavis accepted Wes, how did you feel?"

"Like hell, if you'll pardon me saying it.  Like bloody hell.  Wes was my mate, but that didn't make it easier. My sister – a woman all grown up.  I never saw her that way before.  Leaving home, even though she was only going a few blocks away.  Breaking apart the family."

Newkirk looked at Doktor Falke. "So that's what's wrong with him."

"Could you – would you say something like that – in casual conversation where…?"

"Where he could overhear it?" Newkirk squeezed her hand. "Consider it done, angel."

+++

"Colonel, I thought about those pearls.  Do you really have to have them?"

"That all depends on my hunch, Newkirk." Colonel Hogan handed the corporal a slip of paper. "If I'm right, I want you to send this to London tomorrow night."

Newkirk read the note. He looked at his commanding officer in astonishment. "How do you do it, sir?  The mind reading. I could certainly use it in my music hall act."

"Never mind about that."

"Not that I'd be alive to do my act if Kinch catches me at his radio.  Besides, Colonel, isn't tomorrow the night we destroy the Mannheim Bridge again?"

"It is. Kinch will see you leave with us; but Olsen is going to take your place."

Colonel Hogan opened a secret compartment beneath his bunk and drew out a box of pills. He placed two pills in Newkirk's palm. "Chloral hydrate. 'Mickey Finns'. LeBeau's going to prepare a very salty snack for Kinch. Use your sleight of hand to get these in whatever he drinks."

"Colonel!"

"You said it yourself. Kinch is as possessive about his radio as Carter is about his chemicals. We have to black out the sixth sense that puts him on the spot whenever anyone ventures near it. I hope someday we recruit someone he'll trust with his equipment, but we haven't yet."

Newkirk looked doubtfully at the pellets.  "Well, at least he'll get a good night's sleep, although he'll have quite a headache when he wakes up."

"I trust you and Simms will make it look as if the sleep was natural."

"Simms agreed to this?"  Newkirk couldn't believe it.  The laconic Marcus Simms was a good soldier; but he was also James Ivan Kinchloe's friend and, like him, a man of colour.  His first loyalty might lie with Kinch, rather than with his colonel.

"You think I'd bring him in if he didn't?"

"Evasion, sir."

"Yeah, it was. Good catch, Newkirk.  Simms agreed. After that ruckus with LeBeau, he's worried sick about Kinch, just like the rest of us are."

+++

Newkirk stood flattened against the wall of the emergency tunnel, watching Marcus Simms. The lithe, black corporal had stationed himself just outside the door to the radio room, where he could see but not been seen by the man seated behind the wireless receiver. Simms moved his head slightly, his body suddenly alert.

Newkirk checked his watch again. _Five minutes before Goldilocks is scheduled to transmit.  If Kinch doesn't pass out before then, there'll be hell to pay._ Simms had signalled five minutes ago that he had drunk the water.  _It can't be more than a few seconds now_; but then Kinch had had long practice in enduring fatigue for the sake of the operation.

He felt despicable for deceiving and knocking out his friend and colleague. _I'm a rat, that's what I am and so is Simms_. _But the guv'nor wants it done this way and we've agreed to do what he says. Well, at least we're not doing Kinch any real harm. But if I were him and he were me, I'd never forgive him._

He looked up and saw Marcus Simms dart through the doorway. He rushed out from his hiding place and into the radio room.

Simms was holding Kinchloe's limp body in his wiry arms. The sergeant's head lolled back against the corporal's shoulder.

Newkirk felt the pulse in his colleague's neck and touched his closed eyelids. "Out like a light," he murmured, gently removing the headphones and laying them on the table. _"I'm sorry, Kinch. I really am. Please understand. I didn't want to do it like this."_

"I caught him just as he started to slump," Marcus Simms said. "Come on.  Help me get him on the cot."

Taking him by the knees as Simms gathered his torso against his chest, Newkirk helped lift the unconscious man and carry him to the cot beside the radio. Simms turned him on his side and adjusted the pillow beneath his head.  Newkirk covered him with the rough woollen blanket. As Newkirk began to tuck the blanket behind his back, both men heard the sharp, staccato bleeps of the incoming signal.

"Better do what you're here for," Simms said as Newkirk hesitated.

Newkirk nodded. He donned the headphones, toggled the switches to 'Transmit' and tapped:  'Papa Bear to Goldilocks.  Come in.  Over.'

His hand curled around his sleeping friend's shoulder, Marcus Simms impassively watched Newkirk take down the nightly message from London. After a few minutes, he looked down at the unconscious man and slowly smiled. _"My poor bro. You're so worn out. Sleep well. Let us worry about you, instead of you worrying about us."_

Newkirk finished jotting down the final instruction. With one hand, he unfolded Colonel Hogan's message, while with the other, he toggled to 'Transmit' and began tapping.

Simms looked in fascination at the spark dancing beneath Newkirk's fingers. He wondered what this message was that he and Newkirk had to drug their friend insensible in order to transmit. He laid his hand briefly in Kinch's hair as a sort of benediction. Then he got up and stood behind the R.A.F. corporal.

Simms looked over Newkirk's shoulder and read the message he was tapping. He glanced over at his friend's motionless body.

"We had to put him out for that??"

"Colonel Hogan wanted it done that way, so that's the way we have to do it. Kinch would've known right off what it was there for if it had been listed on the manifest.

"Goldilocks to Papa Bear.  Message acknowledged.  Item to be in next drop.  Requesting china tea service next?"

_Goldilocks thinks she's quite a cut up, _Newkirk thought sourly.

"Already own. Wedgwood. Gift of H.M. Q. E.  Papa Bear out."  Shutting off the power, he looked with pity at the man lying on the cot.

"They wanted to know if we wanted a tea service to go along with it," Newkirk said to Marcus Simms. "I don't envy Kinch if that's what he has to deal with, every time the colonel wants something unusual."

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them we already had one. A gift from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth no less."

"Nice lady, for a queen."

"My mum and sister Mavis saw her once. One time after the East End was bombed during the Blitz.  She and the King came and looked over the place.  Mavis was ever so thrilled."

Newkirk thought about Mavis. She really was a game girl – taking care of Mum and Granny and raising a child while the bombs came down around her.  He never told her how much he loved her.  How proud he felt to have such a brave sister.  About time he mentioned it to her.

He thought of the look on Kinch's face when he told the guys in the barracks about how Mavis's engagement to Wes affected him. He looked at the message he had just sent to London.

"Uncanny how the colonel always knows; but he always does," he said to Marcus Simms.


	2. Conversations Between Equals

Chapter 2: Conversations between equals. 

****

**_December 25th, 1943.  Morning._**

Colonel Robert Hogan stood outside the door of his barracks, savouring the bright winter sunshine.

_"Christmas Day! And what a place to spend it in!" _He turned his head to take in the panorama. Snow covering the compound. Icicles hanging from the gutters of the prisoners' barracks. Frost riming the windows. Beads of ice glistening along the barbed wire surrounding his not so modest prison camp, Stalag Luft Dreizehn – Luftstalag Thirteen.

He chuckled as he noticed the ridge of snow hanging from the edge of the roof over the entrance of the Kommandantur. He pointed it out to the tall, black staff sergeant who had just opened the door beside him.

"Sure hope I'm around if it dislodges and covers Klink or Burkhalter. Or Hochstetter."

Sergeant James Ivan Kinchloe chuckled. "Now _that_ would be worth the wait, Colonel."

"Anything I should know about, Kinch?"

"No, sir. Just routine stuff. Seems Goldilocks is letting us take Christmas Day off. She only wants us to blow up a factory near Heidelburg before New Year's."

Hogan frowned. "I hope it's not Schultz's toy factory."

Kinch rubbed the corner of his mouth. "Hmm. I hadn't thought of that. After the story he told us last night…. No, I wouldn't want it to be his factory; but what can we do if it is?  His factory's making rifles now. Real ones."

"Maybe we'll all be lucky and it won't be his plant that must go boom." The two men saw the fat sergeant of the guard pacing his beat in front of Kommandant Klink's quarters. "Do me a favour, Kinch. Find out where it is, will you?"

"Right, sir."

Colonel Hogan watched his radio operator as he trudged through the snow to Sergeant Schultz.  He squinted his eyes from the glare of the refracted sunlight. _"He's trying his best to hide it, but he still looks depressed. Well, who can blame him? Christmas Day in the cesspit, and his only sister telling him she's engaged to a man he's never met. She's probably even marrying the guy this week, if he's on his furlough. Poor Kinch. Stuck here when he wants to be home inspecting the groom and kissing the bride."_

The colonel felt a heavy hand strike him on the shoulder. He turned, annoyed, to scorch whoever it was who nearly sent him sprawling into the snow. His anger suddenly evaporated when he saw the man who saluted him.

"Merry Christmas, Colonel!" boomed a big bass voice that came from a giant of a man, ruddy haired and ruddy faced, who grinned at him mischievously.

"Donovan! You did that on purpose! How dare you assault your commanding officer?" Hogan said, returning his salute and holding out his hand. "Merry Christmas, Mike. A very merry Christmas."

Group Captain Michael Donovan gave his commanding officer's hand a hearty squeeze. "T'was the only way to get your attention, Robbie, and quite effective t'was."  He looked over at the German and American sergeants pacing the ground on the other side of the compound. "How is our Kinchin? Still not yet himself?"__

Colonel Hogan flexed his hand to restore circulation to it. It wasn't that the Irish born R.A.F. officer did not know his own strength.  He did.  It was that Donovan didn't care how much of it he used – particularly on his superiors in rank.

"Michael, I don't care if you try out your muscles on Klink or on Kinch; but why try them out on me?"

"Because yon Kinchloe can best me fairly in a fight and Klink can best me unfairly by tossin' me in the cooler, but you have to use those eagles on your shoulders to best me at all. I'd like to think we're equals for all your rank."

"You know 'all' my rank is a squint above your own, you bogtrotter!" Hogan said with a smile, holding the thumb and forefinger of his hand up to Donovan's eyes so the Irishman could see that they were a scant millimetre apart. "And of course we're equals in all that matters. Shall we have our meeting here or in your barracks?"

"Mine. I was inviting you to come over; but you didn't hear me for worrying about yonder man." Donovan looked anxiously at Kinch and Schultz. "You didn't answer my question, Colonel. How is our Kinchin?"

"You know Kinch." The colonel shook his head with a sad smile. "Does his job. Keeps occupied. Smiles, and hides his feelings inside himself. The only person he's confided in is Marlena Falke, but I doubt he's told her everything that weighs on his mind. Come on, Mike. We'll talk about it inside your quarters over a Guinness."

+++

"Merry Christmas, Schultzie! How goes the war?" Kinch gave his opposite number a hearty greeting. He nearly slapped Schultz's broad, bowed back; but had second thoughts about it.  He didn't really like the German guard, or did he? He looked at Schultz's sad face, and an unfamiliar pity suffused his heart. _I sure hope his factory is not the one we're after._

Schultz looked up from his plodding. "Oh. Hello, Sergeant Kinchloe. Merry Christmas."

Kinch looked at him, now sincerely concerned. "What's wrong, Schultz? Other than that you're stuck here walking a beat Christmas Day."

Schultz heaved a tremendous sigh.

"It can't be that bad!" Kinch motioned at the sky. "The sun's shining. The snow's not too deep and it's not too cold. All in all, it's a beautiful day to be outside in."

"As you say."

"Mind if I walk with you?"

Schultz shrugged. "As you like."

Kinch matched his steps to Schultz's. "Want me to hold your rifle for you?" he teased, trying to coax some reaction from the big German.

"Nein. Danke."

Kinch suppressed a sigh of his own. _Well, let's get to what I'm here after._

"That was quite a tale you told us last night about how your Great Grandpa Gunther started your toy company."

"Ja." Schultz heaved another tremendous sigh.

"It was in Heidelburg that he founded it, right?"

"Nein. But he had to move the factory to Heidelburg because of the Burgomeister Meisterburgers."

" 'Toymakers to the King.' That's quite a reputation to live up to. And you told us that your company delivered toys all over Germany?"

"Ja. To all over Europe before the war. France. England. Even to Russia and America. The Schatze Toy Company was famous for its quality toys, especially before the last war." Schultz looked wistful. "Oh, those were glory days, Sergeant Kinchloe."

"I'm sure they were, Schultzie." _I've got to get him to talk about the present time. "_It must be a huge factory now. I'll bet it covers acres of ground."

"Ja. It did."

"Doesn't it still?" _Maybe it's already been bombed out._

 "Ja; but my factory doesn't exist now. The government took it over to make rifles and ammunition." He looked up, his face contorted by anger. "They should not have done it!  Aren't there enough factories in Germany making guns? The Schatze Toy Company should be making toys for the children!"

Then Schultz sagged like a deflating blimp. "I should be honouring my family's tradition right now, bringing toys to all the orphans and the sick children in the hospitals. Instead, here am I, guarding Herr Big Shot while he sleeps away his Christmas schnapps."

Kinch looked away. "I'm sorry, Schultz," he said quietly.

Schultz looked at him. "How are _you_, Sergeant Kinchloe?"

Kinch turned to him, surprised. "How am I?"

"Ja. How are you? You have looked heartsick."

"I'm well enough," Kinch replied. He studied Schultz's moon face. _The big teddy bear actually seems concerned about me._ "Yeah, thanks. Thanks for asking. I'm quite well enough. Just a little worried about my sister. Don't trouble yourself about me, Schultz. I'll be fine."

"You must miss your sister very much. Another Christmas Day you have to be here, instead of with her."

Kinch shrugged it off. "I guess you miss your family too. Guarding us, instead of being with your wife and children."

"Ja. I miss the little ones." Schultz frowned. "They are not so little now. My little Gizela is nearly twelve. She is the youngest. But that is not what makes me sad today. I cannot keep from thinking about the little ones orphaned by your bombs."

"Be fair, Schultz. A lot of little ones all over Europe have been orphaned by _your_ bombs."

"Ja. You are right. I did not drop them; but they are _my_ bombs. They could have been made in _my_ factory." Schultz sighed even deeper than before. "I cannot give them toys. I cannot make toys for them." He looked at Kinch with sad, very sad, eyes. "I thought we had given up fighting wars when we lost the last one, Sergeant Kinchloe."

"I hoped we had given up war then, but we didn't." Kinch thought about his dead father, about his separation from his sister, and about the fact that the man Jessie was marrying was also a soldier. Now she had two men to worry about. "Maybe we never will give up war. There always seems to be some reason to fight another one."

_Doktor Falke would say most reasons for war are either stupid or selfish. "I'm not denying that, Marli, but what if you're hit first, or someone you love is hit, or someone is hit who's weaker than the guy hitting him? You've got to fight then, don't you?"_

"But what are we going to do about this one? When is it going to end, so I can make playthings again and keep my Great Grandfather Gunther's legacy alive? When can we give the children toys instead of bombs and guns?"

_When is this war going to end? When can I go home to Jessie? When will I meet her husband and learn to live with him beside her?  When can Carter be a decent dunderhead again and not a pyromaniac? When will LeBeau have his beloved France restored to him? Newkirk not have to worry about bombs dropping on his home?  When can Doktor Falke return to her true country without fear of condemnation? And when will I go home to a nation that won't care what I look like, so long as I do the good, right and honest thing as best I can?"_

"I don't know, Schultzie.  I hope next year.  I don't know."

+++

Group Captain Donovan closed the door to his private quarters in Barracks Eleven. He turned and saw Colonel Hogan unzip his leather flight jacket and pull out a bottle.  The colonel presented the bottle to him.

"With my complements and those of my men, Group Captain. A very merry Christmas and a much happier New Year."

"And to you too, sir." Donovan took the bottle and admired it "Guinness! Ireland in a bottle! Ah, you do know what to give a man! I only wish I could give you as princely a gift in return."

"You do it everyday, Mike, just by being here.  I don't know how I would've kept the men in line without you.  You've done all my routine senior officer chores for me so I can concentrate on the operation. Don't think I don't appreciate it."

"Merely doing what I'm best at, sir."

"As to Kinch. I wish you could do your 'father confessor' job with him. My door is open to him, but when he locks himself away, we both know how thoroughly he does it. 

"I've tried to give him tasks to distract him. Right now, he's trying to winkle out the location of Schultz's toy factory.  The Krauts are making rifles and small arms there now, and it may be our next target on London's Christmas wish list. He's helped Newkirk and Carter cut down fir boughs to decorate the tunnel two nights ago. He spent a long night down there after Schultz finally left us last night, but I know he wasn't asleep because I went to check on him.  So did LeBeau and Marcus Simms.

"Today LeBeau is fussing over our Christmas dinner. Carter and Newkirk are going up and down the ladder with decorations, so Kinch can't rest either on his bunk upstairs or his cot downstairs.  I've told him to nap in my room; but he says he's too restless to sleep."

Donovan sighed as he reached into his footlocker and drew out two whiskey glasses. "I was hoping he'd be himself again by now."

'Don't tell anyone about this, but I think his sister is getting married today. I've invited Doktor Falke to spend Christmas afternoon with us.  Kinch has a soft spot for her."

Michael Donovan raised his thick brows and smiled. "I think that Kinchin is not the only one with a 'soft spot' for the lady."

"If you mean Carter, you're right. If you mean me, Michael Donovan – don't be so sure." He saw Donovan smirk as he poured out two measures of the Guinness. "O.k.  Maybe I was over reacting when Hochstetter started closing in on us. I like Marlena Falke. She's been useful to us, and not only as a sympathetic friend for Kinch and for Carter. I did not want to place her out of bounds, but she's a vulnerable girl and she's scared to death of the Gestapo.  I don't want Hochstetter and his bloodhounds sniffing around her and finding my two sergeants."

"Yet you've invited her to spend Christmas with you."

Hogan drained his glass. "As I said, maybe I was over reacting.  She's lonely too.  I saw that in her eyes when she was here two weeks ago. The way she looked at Kinch and the way she hugged Newkirk spoke libraries. She has to be so careful not to give herself away, or to say anything that traces any of the damage we do to us. She's the only one in that hospital who knows we're responsible for the injuries she and the other surgeons have to patch up.  That means she can't afford to have any other friends but us."

"You think that you owe her something."

"I know that we owe her. She saved LeBeau's life. She risked her own neck to look for Newkirk. She gives Carter those elder sister hugs that brace him up. She's kept Kinch from going stir crazy because her cottage is the only place he can go to get away from this place and the tunnel. We can saunter to the Hofbrau and flirt with the barmaids. He can't.

"Marlena also came to us when our blabbermouth war correspondent Walter Hobson insisted that a 'real doctor' examine his 'broken' ankle."

The colonel grasped the neck of the bottle and raised it. Donovan nodded. Hogan poured out another two glasses.

"Do you know that Kinch found her at the wreckage of that plane Hobson parachuted from?  She saw the same ghastly sights he did, and it was her first time seeing carnage in situ. Kinch has seen such horrors before, but that one really burnt him. He came back to camp angry and bitter, dripping scorn all over Hobson because the man survived and was criticizing the guys who died. So, you can imagine how upset Marlena must have felt when she saw what was left of the crew of that plane. Yet, she came when we summoned her for little Wally's sprained ankle."

Hogan drank the Guinness and licked his lips appreciatively. "Hobson was rude to her; but she pretended she didn't understand his insults.  She just calmly taped him up. We owe her a lot."

Donovan refilled Hogan's glass. "And you miss her."

Colonel Hogan looked down at his glass. "Yeah. She's the nicest pain in the neck I've ever dealt with," he admitted. "I want her safe in London; but I also want her here with us. She's good company. I find trying to disabuse her of her stupid notions a diverting pastime.  Sometimes I wish her notions were not so naive."

He sighed. "And it's Christmas. A time when we sing about wanting peace on earth and goodwill to men.  She deserves to celebrate Christmas with us."

"Well, tell me when she's coming, Robbie," Donovan downed his Guinness and smacked his lips. "I've not forgotten when she stayed in the tunnel nursing LeBeau. I want to greet her with a 'Merry Christmas' too."

+++


	3. Christmas Truce

Chapter 3: A Christmas truce 

**_Christmas Day, 1943. Early evening._**

"Well, Herr Oberst. What did Sergeant Carter mean by a 'Christmas truce'?  Radio Berlin made no mention of one."

Colonel Hogan laughed as he helped Doktor Falke descend into the emergency tunnel. "Not the war, Fraulein Doktor. A truce between us."

Corporal Newkirk stood at the bottom of the ladder. "We got a sprig of mistletoe in the last air drop," he said as he guided her to the ground. Holding it over their heads, he wrapped his free arm around her, bent her back and kissed her full on the mouth before she could take a breath.

"I'll wager no one has ever kissed you like that before."

Doktor Falke smoothed down her skirt and patted her hair. "Nor ever will again." Newkirk's smile wavered. "Unless it's you, Peter," she added, hugging him close. "A happy Christmas."

"A happy Christmas to you too," he replied. He whispered in her ear. "I oh-so-casually yarned to the guys about how Mavis's engagement struck me all a heap, just like you hinted." He glanced at Kinch and shook his head. "Why didn't he tell me what was bothering him, poor sod? I would've put him right in a jif."

"I don't know." She looked up. "We're not expecting a thunderstorm tonight, are we?"

"No, should we?"

"I may need to be wary of lightening bolts. Divine retribution."

Newkirk squeezed her waist. "You never told me straight out what was wrong with him. Even if you did, would God kill you for easing the heart of a friend?"

Doktor Falke returned the squeeze. "What would I do without you to set me straight?"

Gently pulling out of the Englishman's embrace, the doctor hugged and kissed each of the men surrounding her until she came to Colonel Hogan. They eyed each other warily.

The colonel held his arms out slightly. "Truce, Marlena?

The doctor smiled. She put her hands on his shoulders and lightly kissed his cheek. "Truce, Colonel."

Slipping her right hand over his arm, Colonel Hogan escorted her into the radio room, the center of the clandestine operation beneath the earth of Luftstalag Thirteen. The men following them all grinned at Doktor Falke's gasp of wonder.  Evergreen boughs and paper chains garlanded the walls of the tunnel. Reflected light, from both the electric light over the radio table and from the kerosene lamps bracketed along the sides of the room, gleamed or danced off ornaments made of tinsel and tins from their Red Cross packages. On the map table lay an assortment of food, some from the Red Cross packages, some from the rations they had hoarded, some as gifts from fellow partisans. There was a pitcher of LeBeau's wine, made from the wild grapes and berries that grew in the woods outside the wire. Schnitzer the veterinarian, who, like Doktor Falke herself, was usually paid in farm produce when he was paid at all, had sent cabbage, beans and carrots, which the resourceful French corporal had made into an edible salad. Newkirk had 'liberated' a bottle of the camp kommandant's best brandy.

"Isn't it something, Doktor?" Carter asked, enthusiastically eying the food.

By pre-war standards, it was a meagre feast; but this was 1943. It looked as bountiful to the ration-strapped Doktor Falke as it did to the five prisoners of war who provided it.

"It's incredibly beautiful," she whispered. She turned to LeBeau, who stood smiling with delight and pride at his handiwork.  "I shouldn't share all this with you. You have so few supplies at hand and you may need to feed some escaping airmen."

"Nonsense, Mademoiselle la Doctrice. There is much more where this came from."

"Well then, I thank you all." She pointed out a paper bag and an earthenware jug that Newkirk and Carter had carried for her into the tunnel. "My little offerings, Corporal LeBeau. When Andrew swooped down and carried me off, these were all I could find to bring." LeBeau looked inside the bag. "Dried apple rings and apple cider, I'm afraid."

"The perfect gift," Sergeant Kinchloe reassured her. "Nothing like an apple, even dried."

Doktor Falke smiled; but her eyes questioned his with concern. This was the week of his sister's wedding.  He seemed to be his old composed self; but she knew how well he could hide his pain under an impassive exterior.

The sergeant returned her smile. _"I'm all right, Doktor Fledermaus. Still getting through the pain, but it hurts less now,"_ his eyes replied. _"Stop worrying and enjoy the party."_

Colonel Hogan had snatched five cigars from the humidor in Kommandant Klink's office. Doktor Falke munched on her dried apple rings and tried not to choke on the fumes, to the politely hidden but obvious amusement of the colonel and his men.

The colonel made a short speech recapping the events of the previous year. The men reminisced about their many successes and few failures, bragging slightly to impress Doktor Falke or to tease her a little acidly, knowing that she did not appreciate what they did.  They no longer blamed her for believing in her pacifism, knowing that every time they sabotaged something, she had to deal with the bloody aftermath. It was, however, still a contentious barrier between them.

Doktor Falke asked about Group Captain Donovan, Sergeant Olsen and Corporal Marcus Simms.

"Donovan and the 'lads' as he calls them are having a good time above in our barracks while watching for the guards." Colonel Hogan held up the brandy bottle. "This isn't the only liquor Newkirk found in Klink's cellar and these are not the only cigars I stole.  They send their warmest wishes and Donovan intends to come down and dance a jig with you later."

"Better wear armour plated shoes, Doktor!" Newkirk shouted.

Everyone laughed at this. Group Captain Donovan was built as high, as wide, and as strong as a Sherman tank and everyone knew that Marlena Falke had two left feet, both of which the RAF officer would surely step upon in the narrow confines of their tunnel.

 "Marlena, last night the men and I were reminiscing about what Christmas was like when we were children. Do you have any memories to share with us?"

Doktor Falke bit into an apple ring. "Not really, Colonel Hogan."

"I guess you don't celebrate Christmas in your brand of religion."

"Oh, we're not so strict as the Amish. My branch of the church came through from the Russian Ukraine.  The Ukrainians really enjoy Christmas, although with their calendar, they celebrate it later than we in the Western world. If the 'English' still celebrated Twelfth Night, it would fall near the Ukrainian Christmas. I suppose a bit of their merriment rubbed off on their 'Russian' Mennonite neighbours.  We give gifts to the small children and we eat a hearty meal with all our family and friends, but Christmas is really for church worship. Santa Claus doesn't mean much to us."

Doktor Falke looked down at her lap. The men looked away uncomfortably. They forgot that Doktor Falke's father had been over strict with her. Her childhood memories were not altogether happy ones, like those of her friends here, or even of her friends of her own religion back home.  

Carter cleared his throat to break the heavy silence. "Last night, Schultz told us of a really terrific legend about his great-great grandfather."

"That's his 'great-great-great-great' grandfather, Carter." Newkirk contradicted him.

"Well, whatever.  All about how he began his toy company in Heidelburg, and how every Christmas, he distributed toys to the children here in Hammelburg and elsewhere."

"His toy company?  Do you mean the Schatze toy company?"

"You've heard of it?"

"Who has not? Oh, they made the most wonderful toys.  The first Christmas I was here, in 1938, the year before the war started, I lived in Heidelburg.  Herr Schultz invited all the townspeople to tour the factory.  I remember looking into a huge display case on the first floor of the office building.  It was magical. Like fairyland. There was a Weinachtsmann – a Father Christmas – and his dwarves in a workshop.  They were carved from wood; but they actually moved.  They were so funny to watch and the expressions carved on their faces were so droll. There were the most beautiful baby dolls, they looked just like real infants. Like sleeping cherubs."

She stared upward at the 'roof' of the tunnel, enraptured by the memory. "There were little mechanical dogs – terriers. The employees wound up the key in each one's side, and they would walk and sit up and beg and even turn somersaults. And the most remarkable teddy bears – so furry looking and so funny.  Each with a face that would melt your heart. And puzzles and kites and building sets and dolls tea sets made of real china. And there were electric trains and toy aeroplanes."

Doktor Falke's face clouded. "I confess I did not like the aeroplanes. They had swastikas all over them. And the toy soldiers were not the gaudy ones that make you think of the Nutcracker Prince. They were dressed like your guards upstairs, although Herr Schultz und Herr Langenscheidt look much better than they did. Less fearsome." She shuddered. "No, I did not like them at all.  But they were the only things I did not like." She looked down at her hands.

"Carter, why don't you tell the Fraulein Doktor what Schultz told us?" Colonel Hogan prodded gently. [which you will find as Patti and Marg's story  "Game Preserver"] 

Carter told the tale, as only Carter could.  [I'll leave _that_ up to _your_ imaginations.]

"What a lovely story, and just like Herr Schultz to be so generous." Doktor Falke replied when he had finished. "He always comes to the hospital twice a month with a bag of sweets for the little ones. You should see him wheedle the nursing sisters into letting the children have their candies."  Her eyes were shining, her troubled memories forgotten.

Kinch slipped his hand over Doktor Falke's and squeezed it.  He gave Carter a smile of thanks.  Carter gave him a shy smile in return.

The 'Fraulein Doktor' meant a lot to the two American sergeants who had befriended her. When they had brought their injured comrade LeBeau to her surgery last January, she had hidden them from the German patrols searching for them and had laboured to save the little Frenchman's life.

Since that time, the two American sergeants visited Doktor Falke at least twice a month; on the Saturday afternoons their colonel permitted each of his men to spend in rotation away from the prison camp and the tunnel. Because his dark complexion made it impossible for Sergeant Kinchloe to walk about town without risking arrest, Doktor Falke's cottage was the only safe house where he could relax from the strain of the operation.  Kinch and the doctor read and discussed the contents of her medical books, as well as the books she borrowed for him from the lending library. Sometimes Sergeant Wilson, the prisoners' medic, would study with them. [Both medicos found it mutually beneficial. Doktor Falke translated the news she gleaned from her journals. Wilson gave her and Kinch a 'crash course' in battlefield surgery techniques. Marlena said that the POW's owed her those lessons, since they were providing so many opportunities to practice them.] Carter would join them in the evenings, after going to the zoo or visiting his friend Madie at the Hofbrau or doing the marketing for both the physician and for LeBeau.  They would eat a frugal supper together. Carter even tried to teach the doctor how to dance, with results best left to the imagination.

Their acquaintance with her had deepened into friendship during the ten months since that first encounter to the day when the Gestapo's suspicions, aroused by war correspondent Walter Hobson's article about unsung heroes in a POW camp, had made casual visits too dangerous. They had truly missed her and she had missed them. It was nice to be together once again. Neither Sergeants Kinchloe nor Carter wanted her to feel her evening with them had been spoiled. 

They sang the songs always sung at Christmas:  "Jingle Bells" ["What's 'two-forty for his speed'?" Carter asked. "Is the bob-tailed nag a horse or a Ford?"]; "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" [Doktor Falke insisted on pausing after 'Ye' instead of after 'Merry'.  She said that rendered the song more appropriate to the company she was keeping.];  "The Twelve Days of Christmas" [No one could agree on whether it was eight "lords a leaping" or twelve.], and all the others. 

Carter sang "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas".  LeBeau and Kinch sang a duet about a pair of wandering minstrels who carolled through the streets of Paris. They all softly sang the "Coventry Carol" together – the tears standing in Newkirk's eyes – out of respect for the victims of the massive air strike on that English city. All the dead, cut down like the little babies of the song.  LeBeau patted his fellow corporal's shoulder when he broke down. To be shut in here, far away from home, when your family was in danger. The feisty Frenchman knew too well how hard that burden was to bear.

When the conversation and the singing had died away, Colonel Hogan signalled to Carter. He brought a small cardboard box and set it down between Sergeant Kinchloe and Doktor Falke.

"This also arrived via the last air drop from London," the colonel said. "Will you open it, please, Marlena?"

Doktor Falke opened the lid of the box. Inside was a small cake, full of raisins, nuts and candied cherries.

"I'm told that, for some arcane reason, Canadians love to eat fruitcake."

She gaped at the American officer. "This one certainly does; but the expense! Why?"

She stopped. Sergeant Kinchloe was staring at his colonel with such a strange expression: half-suspicious and half…  moved?"

"Colonel Hogan, who told you?" Kinchloe asked in a choked voice. "Carter?  Doktor Falke?"

_Of course._ Marlena Falke realized with a gasp._ This is really a wedding cake._

"No one needed to tell me, once I found out the letter that upset you was from your sister.  Kinch, I have three sisters of my own. I'm a career officer.  When a soldier stationed away from home receives a 'Dear John' letter from his sister, it's obvious what she wrote.  It happened to me twice." He came behind Doktor Falke and laid his hand on her shoulder. "I didn't have a devoted lady doctor to talk me through the first time."

"Or an understanding C.O., Colonel?"

"Or a barracks full of trustworthy friends, Kinch."

Sergeant Kinchloe looked down at the fruitcake in Doktor Falke's hands.  She offered it to him.

"Danke schoen, liebe Freundin." He gave her a gentle smile as he took the box. "Thanks, Colonel. Thanks, guys."

He looked again at Doktor Falke. "So?" She nodded. He took the fruitcake from the box, broke it in half and handed one piece to the doctor. She broke her half into thirds at the same time as he did the same.

"Colonel?  Louis?"

"Peter? Andrew?"

Each man took a piece of the fruitcake. They all ate it, including LeBeau, who made a face as he swallowed. He and Colonel Hogan were not fond of fruitcake.

Newkirk poured brandy into five mugs and apple cider into Doktor Falke's.

The others rose from their places and waited.

Colonel Hogan looked at his radioman. "Kinch?"

Taking a deep breath and drawing Doktor Falke's hand through his arm, he raised his mug.

"To Lieutenant and Mrs. Thomas Harris. To my sister Jessica and her husband Tom. May they have a long and happy life together." _And may he always cherish her as I do, _he added silently.

Everyone raised their mugs and drank. Suddenly Doktor Falke gasped and began to choke.

Sergeant Kinchloe quickly dropped his mug, wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her tight against his chest and repeatedly pushed his interlocked fists into her diaphragm until she gasped, spluttered, wheezed and finally drew in a clear breath.

Colonel Hogan grabbed the mug from her hand before she spilled its contents over her skirt.

"Andrew J. Carter! What did you put into my A_pfelsaft_?" Doktor Falke fumed at the grinning young man.

Colonel Hogan sniffed the liquid in the doctor's tin mug, tasted it and handed it to Kinchloe. "About a fifth of brandy. Wouldn't you say so?"

Kinch sniffed, tasted and nodded. "About that much, sir.  Maybe a little more."

Carter laughed, dancing backward, away from her. "It wasn't me, Doktor! It was Newkirk!"

The doctor's angry eyes swung to the Englishman. "Well really, angel!" he said. "How can you toast a bridal couple with apple juice?"

Doktor Falke struggled, broke free of Sergeant Kinchloe's restraining arm and hurled herself at Newkirk. The Englishman quickly retreated into the emergency tunnel. She charged after him, Carter at her heels.

"Kinch! Colonel! LeBeau! Hold her back! She's a flippin' tigress!"

Kinchloe raised an eyebrow. Colonel Hogan replied with a smile and a slight shake of the head. He extended his mug. The sergeant poured into it half the contents of Doktor Falke's mug.

"I can't guarantee the tunnel will hold up, sir, if they keep rough housing in it."

"Just the usual sounds of children fighting at Christmas, Kinch."

LeBeau smiled beatifically. "It does warm the heart, mon Colonél."

"And it's to be expected, Colonel." Kinch laughed. "After all, you are Papa Bear."

Colonel Hogan rolled his eyes. "My cubs. What did I ever do to deserve them? At least you two are full grown adults."

Colonel Hogan raised his mug in salute: first to Sergeant Kinchloe, then to Corporal LeBeau, and lastly to the sounds of laughter and scuffling in the tunnel.


	4. Interludes

Chapter 4: "Interlude"

Kinch saluted his colonel and LeBeau in turn. He downed the liquid in Doktor Falke's cup and shook his head in disgust.

"Brandy and _Apfelsaft_. I don't think I care for mixed drinks." He turned his head to the ruckus in the emergency tunnel.

Colonel Hogan laid a hand on his sleeve. "I think they've had enough fun. Don't you?"

Kinch nodded and left the 'room' to the colonel and LeBeau.

"Quite a little hellcat for a pacifist, eh mon Colonél?" LeBeau looked up at Colonel Hogan.

"She just does not know how to hold her liquor, Louis." Colonel Hogan chuckled as he gently chided him. Then the laughter broke through. "But you're so right. She is a little hellcat."

Both men laughed heartily.

Kinch propelled Newkirk back into the room, his firm hand clutching the back of the English corporal's collar. He gave Newkirk a shake. "O.k., Peterkins. Say you're sorry to the nice colonel."

Newkirk looked down. "I'm sorry, nice Colonel," he mumbled like a mischievous little boy. Kinch shook him again. "I am sorry, guv'nor," he said in his normal voice.

"Be better if he said 'sorry' to the nice doctor," said Colonel Hogan. "Did you?" When Newkirk did not reply, he nodded to Kinch, who tightened his hold on Newkirk's collar.

Doktor Falke and Carter came through the doorway behind Kinch's broad back. "It's all right, Colonel Hogan. Please, Sergeant Kinchloe. Let him go. I'm just as much to blame – flying at him like I did."

"You had provocation, Doktor," Kinch replied. He twisted Newkirk to look at him. "So do I, as a matter of fact. For spoiling my toast to my sister. I won't push the matter of how that cake got here from London."

Newkirk looked contrite.

"I'm sorry, Doktor. I'm sorry too, Kinch. I really am. I guess I just had too much to drink and thought it would be a good joke."

"Kinch, getting the cake here was not Newkirk's fault" Colonel Hogan added. "I wanted to surprise you, so I put him up to sending the message."

"And the way he went about it?"

"My fault as well."

Kinch sighed. He looked at Doktor Falke. "I'll forgive them if you wish to forgive Newkirk."

Doktor Falke looked at the English corporal's hangdog expression.

"Then I'll forgive him with all my heart, Herr Kinchloewen." she replied.

"Done, then."

"Done indeed, mein Herr."

Kinch let Newkirk go with a final warning shake.

Newkirk sagged like a boneless scarecrow; but caught himself before he collapsed to the packed earth of the tunnel. No one gave him a single laugh.

He looked so crestfallen that Doktor Falke smiled. She hugged him and kissed his cheek. "Dearest Peter. What _would_ I do without you?" she whispered in his ear.

Startled, Newkirk slowly put his arms around her waist. "Just keeping you human, angel." Then, thinking of how much he had quarrelled with his sister Mavis, and how much he missed her, he squeezed the doctor close to him. "What would I do without you either?"

"Good." Colonel Hogan replied. "It's Christmas, children. We shouldn't be fighting tonight. Especially among ourselves."

Kinch and Doktor Falke lagged behind as the others resumed their places on the stools around the map table.

The doctor looked hard at Colonel Hogan, startled at how quickly he had dismissed the matter. "I suppose he is used to drawing the lines himself," she whispered to her companion as they lingered in the shadows of the emergency tunnel.

"And I'm used to forgiving him, and obeying him. But I'm afraid that one day he'll cross a line he did not draw. Or order us to cross it. What will happen then?"

They reached their stools and sat down.

Since the colonel evidently wanted the subject changed, Doktor Falke attempted to do so. "I wish Herr Schultz could perform his family's ritual this Christmas. So many of the children here have lost their parents. They are frightened and without love. A toy, something they could hug, would mean so much to them."

"I wonder what happened to the toys Herr Schultz hadn't sold when the war started," she mused. "There must have been some, packed away somewhere. I know he'd want to give them to the children at the Krankenhaus or the orphanage."

Colonel Hogan looked at her with sudden attention. His eyes gleamed as he pondered what she had said.

"Oh. Oh. I think I sense another of the Colonél's schemes coming on." LeBeau rolled his eyes.

"Let me brood about it, guys. Entertain Doktor Falke while I think it through."

Kinch shook his head. He knew what the colonel was like once he got one of his ideas knocking in his brain. _Oh well. His plans usually work. Maybe the one he's got now will too. _"I've got a legend for you, Doktor Fledermaus."

"It has to be a family legend, Kinch. Schultz's was a family legend," said Carter.

"It is a family legend, Andrew. One that Doktor Falke might like to hear, since it involves the region she grew up in."

"Well, then. Let's hear it," said Newkirk impatiently.

Sergeant Kinchloe paused a moment to gather up the threads in his mind. "Doktor, do you know how Upper Canada got started?"

"You mean, with the Loyalists settling there after the American Revolution?"

"Yeah. There were too many squabbles due to the differences between the way the new arrivals were used to being governed and the French system that the British had promised to keep in Canada after they conquered the place."

"A promise they reneged on if I know _les Anglais_," LeBeau grumbled. Newkirk shot him an angry look.

"No, LeBeau. They tried to keep their word, but the new arrivals complained too loud. England was already demoralized from losing thirteen of their colonies to a bunch of upstart colonials. Rather than fight another war and probably lose the whole works, London split the colony in two. The French half they called 'Lower Canada' and the western half became 'Upper Canada'."

"If it was anything like the fights Newkirk and LeBeau get into … Whew!" Carter said. LeBeau shied his cap at him.

"Upper Canada got it's own Lieutenant-Governor – ."

"It's prounouced "_Lef_-tenant", Kinch." Newkirk interjected.

"Doktor Falke knows that and I'm telling the story to her."

The doctor hastily intervened. "Yes. I know from learning it in school. He was Governor Simcoe."

"Right. Lieutenant-Colonel John Graves Simcoe. Mark that, milady. Colonels are good for something, as I'm about to tell you."

"You certainly know my country's history, Herr Kinchloewen."

"That part of it I should know," he said quietly. "I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him. In fact, you might not have been a Canadian citizen, but for him and for another colonel, a Colonel Butler. That colonel sold a lot of his land grant in Niagara to a bunch of Pennsylvania Mennonites. Weren't they the ancestors of those Mennonites that sponsored your folks when they emigrated?"

"Yes. They were," Doktor Falke said with a rueful twinge.

"Then don't rail at Colonel Hogan as much as you do. Colonels are good for some things, and you owe your life to ours."

Doktor Falke sighed. "I guess I do. I am sorry, Colonel Hogan, for the way I sometimes act."

The colonel leaned back in his chair. "It's all right, Marlena. Don't stop needling me. I need the humility. Sometimes I also need the humanity. Go on with your story, Kinch."

"Well, Governor Simcoe wanted to pass a law forbidding slavery in the new colony. His advisors who owned slaves opposed him on that. Slaves were property, and they didn't want to lose more property. They had left enough behind back in the States.

"Colonel Simcoe was convinced that slavery was immoral, but he didn't want another revolution, so he compromised. Any slave already in the colony stayed a slave. Any slave brought into the colony stayed one; although there would be no buying and selling on the British side of the river – at least, there would be no auctions – and there would be restrictions on how many you could import. But he got this into law: Any child of a slave born in Upper Canada would be free on his or her twenty-first birthday. It wasn't much, but it was a crack of light through the clouds.

"It created a problem for the slave owners, though. They were used to slaves. What would they do when the supply eventually ran out?

"A baby born to a slave in the United States was a slave for life, and the British respected that at the time. Some slave owners among the Tories decided to 'loan' their pregnant bondwomen to friends across the river until the babies were born. As no decent person would want to deprive a mother of her child, when she was brought back to her original master in Canada, so was the baby – in bondage."

Kinch paused. "That's what happened to my grandmother's great-grandmother."

"What a horrible thing to do!" whispered LeBeau. The others nodded.

"My grandmamma's great-grandmamma…" Kinch looked at Marlena Falke. "We'll call her Lily. I don't know what her real name was. Lily was determined that her child would be free. Her new 'master' and his friends carried her across the Niagara River in a boat – kicking and screaming if I know the women in my family – to his home in a place now called Lewiston, New York."

Colonel Hogan leaned forward. "But I thought slavery was outlawed in the North."

"Not in the 1790's, Colonel. It was still going strong then.

"Lily played the docile darky to lull suspicion, but she looked for her chance to escape. Months passed. She grew clumsy as the child inside her grew bigger. She exaggerated her awkward waddle to make her captors let down their guard even more. They'd think 'How could she escape if she could just manage to make it across a room?'

She knew she had to escape soon, or her large belly would not let her escape at all. Her child would be born a slave like she was. But how, and when, could she do it?

"December came. Christmas. Big parties. Lots of merry making and lots of drunkenness. Lily's chance had finally come. She sneaked out of the house during one of those parties and made her way in the darkness to the river. She found a rowboat, untied it, heaved herself in, and started rowing for the opposite bank."

Kinch looked at Marlena. "Doktor Fledermaus, have you seen the Niagara River at that point? I mean across from that tall statue of the general with his arm outstretched."

"General Brock's monument? Yes, I have." Doktor Falke struggled to remember what the river looked like. "It's quite wide…"

"And there's a strong current from the Niagara Falls. A very strong current. Imagine that you're about to give birth, and you are rowing for your life and for your child's life and freedom across that icy water. And it's night. And you are all alone and frightened."

There was not a sound in the tunnel but tense breathing from the five people listening to the tale.

"Lily couldn't control the boat in that current. It tipped over. She fell into the water. She began to freeze. She held onto the upturned boat as best she could, but she was heavy with child and her hands were getting numb. Maybe she tried to swim. I don't know. I'm sure she knew she'd be swept into Lake Ontario if she didn't try to make it to the bank. Maybe she didn't care by then. All I do know from the legend is that she started to drown.

"Another boat came then. The three men inside it pulled her in. She was too weak to resist them. They bundled her into blankets and rowed her to the Canadian side. One of the men grounded the boat while the other two got her to the nearest farmhouse. The farmwoman – she may have been an ancestor of the people who sponsored you, Doktor, because the legend is that she spoke Dutch – she got Lily inside and into a warm bed.

"The woman and her husband hid her away and protected her from the slave catchers. She had her baby boy the following week: born free. Lily and her protectors named him 'Moses', because he was pulled out of the water, like the biblical Moses."

"And they took care of Lily?" Carter asked anxiously. "She didn't have to go back, did she?"

"No. I guess everyone concerned thought she had drowned in the river. Her protectors sent her to friends inland, where there was less chance of her being caught by her old masters. No one ever knew what became of the three men. The legend is that the farmer found no marks of their feet on the snow the next day. Just Lily's footprints, his wife's and his own. I don't know if angels did rescue her; but whoever did, I certainly owe them my existence.

"My great-great grandfather Moses became a cooper. He fought with other black men at Queenston Heights during the War of 1812. He helped other fugitives adjust to the new country. When land near Chatham was turned into a settlement of fugitive slaves from the South, Moses Cooper was in his sixties. He sold the cooperage business he had built up near the Twelve Mile Creek and he and his family went west to help settle in the newcomers.

"His grandson was my grandfather, who's daughter met my dad when he came through from Detroit on business. They married and that's how Jessie and I came to be."

Colonel Hogan looked at his sergeant. _"We owe those three angels quite a debt. I don't know what we'd do without you."_

"That's quite a story, Kinch."

"Yeah. I was just thinking. There are a lot of determined women in my family. My mom had a hard life, but she kept us going. My grandmamma Kinchloe never bent her standards; but she loved us and saw us all through a lot of grief and trouble. And it goes back a long, long way. Jessie comes from the same good stock."

"As does her brother, Herr Kinchloewen," Doktor Falke said softly.

Kinch smiled a gentle thanks to her. "So perhaps I'm worrying needlessly about her."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said Newkirk. "It's a brother's right to worry. But it doesn't mean that they'll put up with it, chum."

"Yeah," Carter added. "Save your worrying for us."

"What do you know about sisters, Carter? You don't have one."

"I think I do, Newkirk." Carter said softly. "Don't I have a sister, Doktor Falke?"

Marlena Falke took his hand in hers. "You do indeed, brother Andrew."

"Have you thought through your plan yet, Colonél?" asked LeBeau.

Colonel Hogan shook his head. "Not yet. Kinch's story was too interesting."

"Well, I don't know if this counts as a family legend; but I have a story," said Newkirk. "Have any of you lot seen a panto?"

"A what?"

"A 'panto'. A pantomime. It's a sort of combination farce and fairy story done in the music halls at Christmas time." Newkirk grinned wickedly at the lady doctor. "To drive the pious crackers."

"You don't give up, do you, Newkirk?"

"Can't afford to, Kinch. Got me reputation as a troublemaker to uphold. Besides, if the doctor can needle the colonel, and the colonel's too much of a gentleman to needle the doctor…."

"Oh, I'm not so sure of that!" Doktor Falke interjected.

"You don't give up either, do you, Fraulein Doktor?"

"I can't afford to, Colonel Hogan." They grinned impishly at one another.

"You've got your reputation as a troublemaker to uphold too. Continue, Newkirk; while I think of a way to involve the good doctor in my fiendish plans."

"Right, sir. Well, every panto has a dame – a fat man dressed in women's clothing."

Carter nudged LeBeau. "I bet Schultzie would look good in a dress." Everyone laughed but Newkirk.

"As I was saying," Newkirk mock-glared at his comrade in arms. "Every panto has a dame – except for the troupe that booked the Orpheum one Christmas to play 'Cinderella'. Our man caught the flu and there was no replacement for him about."

"Except you."

"Do I look like a fat man, Carter?"

"You've played women's parts here."

"We've all played women's parts here – well, almost all of us," Newkirk amended, looking at Kinch.

Kinch shrugged. "I've been spared that indignity at least."

"So have I." Colonel Hogan said, crossing his fingers. "So far."

"'Indignity', Sergeant Kinchloe?" Doktor Falke gave him a look. "Is it so bad to be a woman, gentlemen? You should try it sometime. You may learn something." She turned to Newkirk with a smile. "Please, Peter. Go on with your story."

"Well, I was playing the Prince's dimwitted lackey – or rather, the lackey that everyone thought was dim but who was really brighter than his master. I did my magic tricks and impressions. Got great reviews too. They're in my trunk back home or I'd show them to you.

"But we needed a panto dame. You can't put on a panto without one, but they were in short supply. Everyone who could do it in a wink was already booked up. We thought we'd have to close down the show before it started, which meant we wouldn't eat that Christmas, let alone buy presents for the kiddies."

Newkirk stopped speaking and looked at his hands.

"So what happened?" Carter asked after the pause lengthened unbearably.

The English corporal smiled, pleased with his sense of timing. "I needed the quid, so I went back to my secondary trade." He held up his fingers and flexed them. "I had them in one gent's pocket when I see this old geezer staring at me. I didn't know what to do. If I took the wallet in plain sight of him, he'd call the coppers. If I didn't, I'd lose out on the money.

"I decided to play the honest cove and hoped the old geezer would leave me alone. I slipped my hand out of the gent's back pocket and began to saunter off. What did the old geezer do but follow me?

"I was in a sweat; but what could he do? I didn't have stolen goods on me. Still, I'm a man who has not always kept to the straight path. I was all nerves that he was a plain clothes copper, bent on collaring me for past misdeeds.

"We get around the corner, and the guy said, 'You were going to rob that gent, weren't you?' I didn't want to say yes or no, so I look at him non-committal like.

" 'What if I was?' I says. He says, 'I hear you're looking for a panto dame.' I says 'What if I am?' He says 'What about trying me out?'

"I look him over. He's the right size, but I don't know him from Adam. He says, 'Look, mate. I know what you was doing to that gent and you know I know. And you know what? I'm going to stick to you so you can't do it again unless you make me your panto dame.' Seems the old geezer was an actor down on his luck. He had seen me around the Orpheum and had heard the gossip.

"What could I do? I was down to my last quid and I needed food and drink. I took him down to the Orpheum and introduced him to my guv'nor there. Well, the old geezer was the best panto dame there ever was. He looked funny and he acted as funny as he looked, simpering and cavorting in the 'Fairy Godmother' rig like he was born to play it.

We didn't have much business the first matinee; but the customers' word of mouth brought in others, who brought in still others. We were held over for weeks. When we finally closed, we had money and to spare.

"He told me his moniker was 'Charlie'. I never knew his last name and I never saw him again. No one else did, but he was the best panto dame I ever worked with."

"I don't know if we should accept your story, Newkirk. It's not a family legend," said Carter doubtfully.

"When I tell it to my kiddies someday, it'll become one, won't it?"

"Yeah. I guess so, the way you add things on. When they tell it to their grandkids, it'll probably be a legend."

"Well, it's the best I can come up with. Can you do better?"

Carter thought this over. He shook his head. "No. I don't have any Christmas legends. Something strange did happen to me once."

"Only once?" asked LeBeau, sceptically. "The way you walk about with your head in the clouds?"

Kinch held up his hand. "Can't you see the Colonel's still thinking? Hold the insults and let Carter tell us his story."

Carter shot him a grateful look. He marshalled his thoughts and took a deep breath.

"When I was a boy, my cousin Paul and I had this pony."

"Is that your cousin named 'Angry-Rabbit-with-Thorn-in-Cottontail'?" Newkirk shot in sarcastically.

Carter glared at him. He was about to shoot off an angry retort when he caught Kinch's reproving glance.

With a look to Newkirk that said, _'I'll mind my manners even though you won't'_, Carter replied mildly, "Yeah. That's Paul.

"Where was I? Oh, yeah. Our pony. We called him, 'Wise-and-Patient-Horse-that-Takes-Us-Everywhere-We-Want-to-Go.' It's shorter in Sioux language. He was all that his name said he was, and we loved him. He was old, though. One day, my uncle said that he was too old to earn his keep, and that he was going to shoot him. We begged him not to do it, but he said he must and he made us watch while he did it."

"That's terrible!" said LeBeau. "Making little boys watch while he killed their pet!"

Carter shrugged. "Yeah, well, my uncle wasn't really being mean. He wanted to teach us a lesson: that bad things happen and we have to learn to take them without crying."

Carter looked as if he was now about to cry. Marlena patted his sleeve. Newkirk put his arm around his shoulders and gave him a sympathetic squeeze.

"How old were you when this happened, Carter?" Kinch asked quietly.

Carter swallowed. " Thanks, fellas. Stupid of me. After all, it happened so long ago. I was about nine, Kinch. 'Horse' was very old and sick. Uncle Stan did the right thing, and he let us pet him and say good-bye before he shot him.

"At the time, though, I didn't think he did the right thing. I was sore at my uncle, and so was Paul. My dad was on my uncle's side. He said that it was the best thing for 'Horse', that he wouldn't have to suffer anymore and that Paul and I should grow up and face the fact that no one lives forever.

"This made us really angry. We decided to run away, into the Black Hills. They're very sacred to the Sioux people. They say the spirits of the brave and mighty ones live there, and that they come to people in dreams and whisper wisdom in their ears. Sometimes, the spirits have even taken people away with them forever, to hunt with them across the sky. Paul and I, we wanted to be with 'Horse' again, so we ran away, hoping that the spirits would take us too."

Carter paused, his thoughts pondering his memories. The other sat in silence, and as each of them waited for him to continue his story, they thought about the times when they too had wanted to run away.

LeBeau thought of the day his wife slammed the door behind him. Good riddance to her. Gizelle had been a shrew. It had been a relief to leave her and start living again. But oh, the money he had had to pay her over the years! It was a relief to be here, where she could not get at him.

Kinch thought of the days after his father's death – when everyone around him was crying and his heart ached so sore. He had longed to run away to where things were normal and carefree, like they were for other kids. He was only six then, and bound by his father's promise to take care of Jessie. He had felt so bewildered. So angry at his father for getting killed and at the Krauts for killing him. A lot of that anger had spilled over into his adult life. Schultz was the only German he had even slightly opened up to, if he did not count Marli Falke, who wasn't really German. He wanted to run away right now, back home to Jessie. He wanted to see this guy she was getting hitched up with and he wanted to share in her joy. He had missed her so much, and he was missing her happiest day. Sometimes duty could feel heavier than the heaviest chain.

Newkirk thought of the day he first left home, in handcuffs. All because he got careless breaking into that posh house. His first imprisonment. He was thirteen then, and mad as hell. He had wanted to escape the East End of London, and to get back at those snooty rich City men who looked down on working class lads like him. But this wasn't the way he had intended to leave it. He soon learned all the tricks of the escape trade, because of that one slip up. They served him well here at Stalag Thirteen, but not in the way he thought they would. Instead of himself escaping, he was stuck here helping other blokes to escape.

Doktor Marlena Falke thought of her own first days in Toronto. The big, wicked city. A place as alien to her as China. She was seventeen, and she was scared. She wanted to escape. But where could she go? Back to her father's beatings? She knew that God had given her a fine mind. She could not subdue the restless urge to learn all she could and to do something important with her life. Her church had given her that. They had seen what her father had done to her. They had hid his faults to outsiders – after all, they were supposed to show a light to the world – but they tried to make it up to her by sponsoring her education in medicine. They had given her a calling and the means to escape him. She had to be brave and endure.

At first, she had hated the city. It was worldly, wicked, all she was taught to abhor. But, gradually, she noticed its riches as well as its garbage. She read her first book for pleasure in the large public library on College Street. It was a magical retreat. Never had she seen so many books, all in one place. One day she listened in on the children's story hour. The tales the librarian, Miss Lillian Smith, had told enraptured her. After that, she came every Saturday: first to listen, then to earn a little money by shelving books. Miss Smith left the door slightly ajar as she read to the children, so that the shy medical student in the next room could better hear her. Marlena Falke saw her first play – the operetta 'Die Fledermaus' – at Massey Music Hall. She found herself laughing hysterically at _that_ Doktor Falke, so different from herself. She opened herself up to the world of the imagination. Through it, she discovered the courage to laugh and survive. She discovered streaks of grey running through her black and white assumptions. She was still learning those lessons, even now, with these dear men.

Colonel Hogan looked at his men, and at Doktor Falke, his 'thorn in the flesh'. He sensed how much Kinch wanted to escape and be with his sister on her wedding day. He realized how vulnerable the lady doctor was: trapped between opposing armies and neither able nor willing to belong fully to either side. He thought of LeBeau and Newkirk, chafing to be fighting openly for their respective countries, and of Carter, trying so valiantly to overcome his ineptness and be of real use to the team.

The colonel also wanted to escape: to be with his loved ones and to do useful work under the open sky. Subterfuge was fun, but it was getting burdensome. He wasn't bored with his men or with the dangerous work, but he was fed up with prison camp life. He had to juggle so much: the men, the operation, Goldilocks, the various underground cells, Marlena. Thank God for Donovan, but Donovan couldn't go cap in hand to Klink. The Geneva Convention stipulated that was the job of the most senior officer among the POW's. His job.

He was also worried about how long their luck would last. Their run of over two years was miraculous when the life expectancy of a guerrilla cell was less than three months. And Hochstetter was increasingly suspicious of them.

Maybe next year they will all be home free. He hoped that with all his heart.

At last, Carter shook himself and resumed his narrative.

"We were gone at least five days. At first, we weren't worried. We had camped out lots of times with our dads. They had taught us lots of useful stuff about wild plants and taking care of ourselves. I guess they thought they'd see how well we learned those things, as well as learn not to run away again.

"It was fun at first, but the fourth day it rained. We were cold and hungry. We missed our folks, but we didn't want to admit it, not even to ourselves. And I was scared that they didn't want us anymore. After all, why didn't they come looking for us?

"That evening, just before sunset, I looked up at the rolling dark clouds and had a dream. I dreamt the lightening we saw were spears and that the spirits were throwing them at the buffalo thundering ahead of them in the clouds. You should've heard the thunder of their hooves as they passed over the hills! It was terrific!"

Carter looked at his friends, thrilled by his memory and anxious to share it fully with them.

"And then I saw 'Horse'. There he was, galloping with the other horses, his mane and tail just flying wildly. He wasn't clop, clopping like he did when he was alive with us. He was really enjoying himself.

"I think he saw me. In my head, I thought I heard him say, "Look at me go, 'Little Deer'!" I watched him gallop across the sky. I couldn't wish him back. I didn't want to. He was having so much fun.

"I looked at Paul. I was afraid to tell him my dream. He'd think I was crazy. But then Paul looked back at me, and it was like we had seen the same thing. We decided to hike back home the next day.

"Dad and Uncle Stan were waiting for us when we got to the main road. They had set up camp there when they found out we were missing. Dad said they thought they'd give us time to ourselves, before they started looking for us. I remember Dad saying that no matter how much sympathy he gets, a man has to grieve all on his own. It's the way of nature. I found out later that he and Uncle Stan had been watching over us all that time, just a little ways away, so that the animals that prowled around there wouldn't hurt us."

"Did this happen at Christmastime?" Doktor Falke asked.

"No, ma'am. It happened in August. But when Kinch talked about those three men who saved his great-great grandma, and Newkirk spoke of a man he never saw before who saved him and his troupe from going hungry, I just thought about this. I don't know why."

"Maybe you hit upon it just now," Kinch said. "People who came, rescued, and then disappeared. My ancestress' 'angels', Newkirk's 'Charlie', and your 'Horse'."

"How did 'Horse' save Carter?" Newkirk asked.

"'Horse' appeared to him to tell him he was happy where he had gone. Carter no longer had to feel guilty or sad. Carter, what happened to you, alone with Paul in the hills for four days?"

"Not much. We talked about 'Horse'. We talked about a lot of things. We hunted our food."

"You relied upon yourself. You relied upon each other. You became better friends with your cousin. That letter that made us tease you about your name – it was addressed to 'Sergeant Little Deer Who Goes Swift and Sure Thorough Forest', right?"

"So?" Carter asked defensively.

Kinch crossed his arms. He looked steadily at the younger man. "So, why didn't your cousin address it to 'Sergeant Andrew Carter'? 'Angry Rabbit' must be proud to be a Sioux."

"Yeah. He is. Very proud."

"And he should be. He has every right to be proud of his heritage, and of his cousin Little Deer. Both came through for him when he needed them. Both your ancestral lore and your cousin came through for you and you learned self-reliance as well."

"I never thought of that." Carter's face burst into a smile. "Thanks, Kinch."

"Well, I hope you take the lesson to heart," said Newkirk, just a little acidly. Then he ruffled Carter's hair, to show he didn't mean to be nasty about it.

LeBeau cleared his throat. "I have a confession to make. Mademoiselle la Doctrice, I met you once before, one Christmas eve."

Doktor Falke's eyes widened. "I don't recall it, Corporal LeBeau."

"It was without your knowledge, and it was three years ago. In 1940, before Colonél Hogan was shot down and this operation was begun. In a way, perhaps I have you to thank for my being here."

"1940." Doktor Falke mused. "I had just moved here from Heidelburg. Like Sergeant Schultz's ancestor, I was trying to hide who I was and what I did, but I journeyed in the opposite direction from Grandpa Gunther Schultze."

"1940 was when France fell to les Boches and was torn in two by them. I had been captured, had escaped, was re-captured, again escaped and was again re-captured. I was determined even then to join the Resistance, but as I was always recaptured before I was able to do so.

"I was still in uniform. I was not a spy or saboteur – not until Colonél Hogan recruited me for this. Since I was still a soldier in uniform, I was sent not to a concentration camp but to a prisoner of war camp.

"That December, I endeavoured to escape again. Again I was re-captured; but I was injured in the shoulder and taken to the hospital."

"I did not dig out _that_ bullet. I would've remembered," Doktor Falke said. "You are impossible to forget, Corporal LeBeau."

"Merci, Mademoiselle." LeBeau bowed and blew her a kiss. "So determined was I to get back to France and to join the Resistance forces that as soon as I awakened, I plotted again to escape. I was very weak, but I am what le capitan d'groupe Donovan calls 'a game cockerel' – all talons and fire.

"It was Christmas Eve. My guards celebrated the holiday a little early. I had hoarded my sleeping syrup. I added it to the beer they drank and – voila! They fell on their faces snoring, the animals."

"I picked a resourceful man to be our chef," Colonel Hogan remarked with a slight smirk.

"Merci, mon Colonél," LeBeau replied with a bow.

Kinch smoothed his moustache, hiding his mouth with his hand. He remained silent, but he looked speculatively from LeBeau to his commanding officer, and then to Newkirk, who suddenly looked down at his hands. His lips curved upward slightly behind his palm as he watched his comrade's neck flush crimson. _At least one of them feels guilty for putting me out of action._

LeBeau continued. " I rose from my bed during the midnight hour and slipped through the corridors until I passed through the door to the outside world. And there you stood outside it, mademoiselle.

"At first I thought you had seen me and would sound the alarm. I had the pistol of one of my guards in my hand. Had you seen me, I would have used it. I did not want to shoot a woman, but I was so desperate to be free.

"You did not see me. Instead, you were looking at the tower of the church. I still can recall how sad and lonely you looked, and how weary.

"Suddenly, I too felt weary. Perhaps I was still too weakened from my wound and loss of blood. I returned to my bed and from there I went to Stalag Thirteen. I tried to escape again three times during the next year, but I was always recaptured. Then Newkirk came. Then le Colonél and Kinch. Then Carter. Then we started this. Whatever you may think of it, mademoiselle, we have done good work here. Very good work, and I am glad to be a part of it."

"I remember looking at the church tower," Doktor Falke recalled. "I was thinking of the bells. If there had not been a war, I thought, the bells in the tower would have been ringing in Christmas Day. I remembered a song that I learned to sing back home and I thought how apt it suddenly had become."

"Was it this song, Doktor Falke?" Carter asked. He began to sing softly:

'I heard the bells on Christmas Day / Their old, familiar carols play, / And mild and sweet, / The words repeat / Of 'Peace on Earth, Good will to men.'

"Yes, brother Andrew. That was the one."

Carter sang the second verse.

'I thought how as the day had come / The belfries of all Christendom / Had rolled along the unbroken song / Of 'Peace on Earth. Goodwill to men.'

Doktor Falke began to sing in a whispery voice:

'And in despair I bowed my head. / 'There is no peace on earth,' I said. / 'For hate is strong, / And mocks the song / Of 'Peace on Earth. Goodwill to men.'…

Her eyes and her voice filled with tears.

Then, looking gently at her, Sergeant Kinchloe's deep baritone took up the next verse:

"'Then pealed the bells more loud and deep. / 'God is not dead, nor doth He sleep. / The wrong shall fail. The right prevail. / With peace on Earth, goodwill to men.'

"Someday, Doktor Falke. Peace and goodwill will come. Believe in that. Don't despair just yet."

"Do you believe in it, mein Herr?"

"With such friends as mine, and with such people as you, yes Doktor Fledermaus. I begin to believe it will happen."

Colonel Hogan took up the song:

"Then ringing, singing on its way, / The world revolved from night to day. / A voice, a chime, a chant sublime / Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Newkirk said, "I can hardly wait to hear the bells again. But we won't be together when that day comes."

"Where will we be?" asked Carter.

"Try not to be so daft, Carter. We'll be in our home countries. Louis will be in France. I'll probably be in some pub in London. You and the colonel and Kinch will be in America. Doktor Falke will be either here or in Canada."

"Then let us make a pact," LeBeau replied. "When we hear the bells each Christmas Day, wherever we are, let us think of each other."

"And raise a glass." Newkirk mimed the action. "Of cider, in Doktor Falke's case. Mine will be gin."

"Molson Export for me," said Kinch, grinning. "An old tradition of my own from Prohibition days," he added, thinking of the times he had smuggled beer across the Detroit River from Canada.

"Champagne for me, of course," said LeBeau. "André?"

"Lager beer. It seems right, being German and all. Colonel?"

Colonel Hogan looked at his cup. He swirled its contents meditatively. "Brandy. Just like this. To remember tonight. With perhaps just a drop of apple juice."

"Colonél! It would ruin the taste!"

"I don't think so, LeBeau. Not on Christmas Day. Not while remembering this night and all of you."

_**More explanations:**_

"I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day": words by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Lieutenant-Governor John Graves Simcoe and Colonel John Butler actually lived.

Colonel Butler's sale of parcels of his grant of land established the first Mennonite settlements in Canada from Pennsylvania – refugees from the American Revolution. And their descendants sponsored those who arrived from Ukraine and Eastern Europe to settle in the West as well as among them in Ontario. Together, they now sponsor refugees from other races and backgrounds. Who in turn sponsor other refugees.

Military men and pacifists. English and French and everyone else under the sun. All human beings. In many ways distinct and divergent – in many ways the same. Amazing the way God works through people of good will, no matter who they are.

Lieutenant-Governor Simcoe's proclamation was enacted. Unfortunately, the circumstances that created and surrounded it also existed. One woman who was carried off across the Niagara River to New York State did drown herself rather than bring her unborn child into a life of bondage. Moses Cooper is fictional; but settlements of black people did exist in Niagara, Chatham and elsewhere in Ontario. Black men fought at Queenston Heights in 1812 as elsewhere in other wars. The stories of these settlers and their descendants deserve wider recognition and greater respect than they get. As do those of Carter's people – the natives and the Metis.

Miss Lillian Smith, Head of Children's Services at the Toronto Public Library in the 1920's-50's, also lived. Her commitment to her profession and to the literacy of Toronto's children in very troubled times is an awe inspiring and lasting legacy that its present citizens sometimes undervalue. Toronto Public Library had the first children's library services in Canada, and the first immigrants' literacy services.


	5. Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho, to Bomb a Plant I Go

Chapter 5: "Heigh Ho. To bomb a plant I go."

"Doktor," Colonel Hogan looked across at her. "Did you say a few minutes ago that you actually saw the Schatze factory?"

Marlena looked startled. "Yes," she said warily. "I saw the showcase in the front office."

Colonel Hogan snapped his fingers. "Newkirk. The map of Heidelburg. The one inch to a half mile. Carter. LeBeau. Clear off the table. Kinch. Your calibrators."

Carter was already piling the left over food to one side of the table. Newkirk unrolled and laid the map down on the cleared space. Kinch and LeBeau weighted down the corners of the map with plates before it re-curled itself.

"Doktor, where is the factory located on this map?"

Doktor Falke looked it over. She pointed. "Those large rectangles to the north, where the railway tracks curve toward town …." Her eyes widened. "You're not going to blow up Herr Schultz's factory?"

Kinch looked over her shoulder at her pointed finger. Then, gently pushing her to one side, he bent over the map, made his measurements, and worked out the results. He stared down at the numbers, and rechecked them. Then he groaned. "I'm afraid we are, Doktor." He handed his calculations to Colonel Hogan, along with the instructions he had received from Goldilocks earlier in the morning. "The co-ordinates fit those of the target, sir."

Marlena looked from Kinch to Hogan in panic. "But it's Herr Schultz's toy factory!"

"They're not making toys there now, Marlena. They're making guns."

"But it's his family business! His life's work! His family's work for over two-hundred years! You can't destroy his life's work!"

"We must, Doktor. We're ordered to do it." Kinch held out his hand to her; but she backed away from him.

"We're sorry, love; but we have to," said Newkirk.

"Be reasonable, Doktor. They're making weapons of war, not toys." Colonel Hogan stared at Marlena's shocked face. "I promise you. We'll make it up to him someday."

"How can you make it up to him?" she demanded.

"I have some influence in Washington. I'll see he gets compensation after the war."

"A few marks? A pittance?"

"I'll see to it that the factory's rebuilt. By my government."

Doktor Falke shook her head. "Colonel, not even you can influence a government to rebuild a toy factory. Not in an enemy country. No one man has that much influence."

Colonel Hogan reached out to her. She backed away from him, into Carter's arms. She struggled, but Carter held her close to his chest.

"Doktor Fledermaus, listen to me." Kinch quietly commanded. "Listen to me. Try to understand. We have to blow up that factory or a lot of kids won't have their fathers with them next Christmas." He looked deep into her eyes. "I had a chat with Schultz this morning. Going by some of the things he said, I don't think he'll mind too much if his factory goes boom."

"Please, ma chére. Do not make it harder than it is," pleaded LeBeau.

"Please, Doktor," Carter whispered in her ear.

Doktor Falke sagged against him. She nodded and closed her eyes. "All right. I won't argue. I just think it's a rotten shame."

"It is," Colonel Hogan agreed with a heavy sigh. "Carter, you're the demolition expert. Study the map with Kinch. Tell us how and where we plant the explosives."

"O.k. Doktor, were you ever inside the factory?" Carter asked as he released her.

Doktor Falke shook her head. "Once, five years ago. I can remember only the foyer of the office building, where the showcase was. I – I saw the plaque Herr Schultz described to you. 'The Schatze Toy Company. Gunther Schultze. By Royal Appointment, Toy maker to His Majesty and the Royal Family.' Pity it will be destroyed."

"Yeah. A great pity," Newkirk said.

Carter looked at Kinch. "Did Schultz say anything about a warehouse full of unsold toys?"

"No, but he must've had one. Every factory has to have a place to store their goods before they're shipped."

"It's probably full of guns instead of toys," said LeBeau.

"But they must've put the toys someplace!" Carter insisted

"The goons probably destroyed them, like they've destroyed everything else." Newkirk grumbled.

"But we don't know that!"

"Are you suggesting that when we plant your explosives, we search the ruddy factory for a room full of toys?"

Colonel Hogan looked at him. "Why not?"

"Beggin' your pardon, Colonel, but what do you mean, 'why not'?"

"I mean, 'Why not liberate Schultz's toys?' Why not help him carry out his family tradition? It will be a long time before he can do it again, so let's see it gets done."

"How do you figure on doing it, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"First of all, we have to find out from Schultz if there is a warehouse full of toys and where it is." Colonel Hogan turned to LeBeau. "You're in charge of that. Kinch will take the ball from you if you have any trouble, since he already seems to have softened up Schultz about his factory turning out guns instead of toys, but I don't want him to make the initial play. The big guy might get suspicious and think Kinch had pumped him. When we blow up his factory, I don't want Schultz to take his revenge on us by blabbing what he's seen and heard all these years."

"I'll make my finest apple strudel, if Doktor Falke will give me some of the apples she's hoarded."

Doktor Falke nodded in resignation. "Yes," she said bitterly. "To get the toys out of the factory you intend to destroy and into the children's hands."

"Good. Doktor, you know where those toys will do the most good. Write out your list of needy children."

"Anything I can do, Colonel?"

Colonel Hogan looked at Carter's eager face. "Right now, keep Doktor Falke from scratching my eyes out. You and Kinch are still on sabotage planning detail; but I'll keep you in mind."

He turned to Newkirk. "I'll need Klink's staff car, a truck or two, and at least three uniforms, for you, Carter and either myself or Olsen." He waved his hand. "Inspector General's Office. Works Production Department. Speer's office. You know what I want."

"With credentials to match of course."

"Of course. Carter's explosives won't be much good if we don't know the best places to plant them. We'll go early tomorrow morning. The brass will be nursing their Christmas hangovers. We can much more easily confuse them or their underlings then. Have you got a nice variety on hand, Carter, in case we can do the job tomorrow night?"

"You bet, Boy! I mean, 'Sir!' I've got pineapple bombs, gelignite, exploding pens, your standard demolition packs. You name it!"

"Good boy. I'm glad to know we have a full range of stock."

"Back to 'Operation Toy Liberation'." He looked Doktor Falke up and down. "Marlena, do you have one short skirt in your wardrobe?"

Doktor Falke looked down at her unfashionable ankle length blue skirt. "What's wrong with this?" she demanded.

"Well, calves are 'in' this season, Doktor Pacifist."

Marlena blushed. "Not mine, Colonel."

"Come on, Doktor Fledermaus! Your legs are fantastic."

"You've actually seen them, Kinch?" Colonel Hogan and the other men stared from Kinch to Doktor Falke open-mouthed. Marlena blushed even redder.

"Sorry for embarrassing you, Doktor; but yes, Colonel. I have. When I saw her trying to get aboard Hobson's plane. Her long skirt was hampering her, so she took it off, along with her petticoat. Believe me, Colonel, our Doktor Falke's got the finest legs in bloomers."

"I don't know why you wear those old fashioned clothes anyway, angel," said Newkirk.

"I will show you why," she replied angrily. Pulling up her skirt and petticoat to the thigh, she whipped off her garter and rolled down one black woollen stocking. Along her leg were the scars of a whip. "_That's_ why. Sergeant Kinchloe, you did not see _that_ in the dark, did you?"

Kinch pursed his lips. "I'm sorry, Doktor Fledermaus," he apologized. He looked into Marlena's tear filled, stormy eyes, and gently added, "You still have the finest legs in bloomers."

Marlena gave him a reluctant smile. "I guess I can't vamp Herr Schultz with them in daylight, can I, Colonel Hogan?"

"Doktor, we'll have to update your vocabulary as well as your wardrobe, but no. You can't 'vamp' either Schultz or Klink with your legs, though they are otherwise well worth seeing. Still," he mused, "most of a woman's allure is in what she conceals, rather than what she reveals. And I know Klink's shown you that he appreciates what he has seen."

"He has not seen more than my face." The smile slowly widened, and a dimple appeared on her right cheek. "I think he's so bored with looking at granite jawed guards and scruffy prisoners of war that he'll fall for a dog in a dress."

"No he won't," Carter laughed. "General Burkhalter's sister, Frau Linkmeyer, is a dog in a dress, and Klink stays well away from her."

"Marlena, I don't think I can con him into this one all by myself," the colonel said, a twinkle in his eyes. "If you want him to play Saint Nick and get Schultz's toys out safely, you'll have to flirt with him."

Doktor Falke's eyes widened. She gulped and pulled her courage around her.

"Then may we get Sergeant Kinchloe to play Schwartze Pieter?" she asked, with a sidelong glance at him.

Kinch started from his stool. "Oh Doktor Fledermaus! You take a cruel revenge! Besides, Zwarte Pieter is Dutch, not German. He punishes naughty children with a scourge. Don't you think we both have had more than enough of that?"

Colonel Hogan smiled like the Cheshire cat. "Will you flirt with Klink on that condition, Fraulein Doktor?"

"Colonel! Me? Play Black Peter to Klink's St. Nick? Don't push me farther than I'll go."

"I'm pushing Doktor Falke farther than she's gone, and she seems willing," Hogan said serenely.

Marlena shook her head. "Your colonel is just teasing you, as I was, Herr Kinchloewen, so that I may get back at you for making me reveal my legs. Danke, Herr Oberst. I would not put him through the children's gawking, even if he did consent to it."

Kinch relaxed, grew meditative. He stroked his moustache. "Maybe I was too hasty in refusing. After all, if a child's never seen a man of colour, how can he realize that what he's been taught is a load of garbage? May I give it some thought, Colonel?"

"Of course, Kinch, but it's not obligatory. After all, 'Black Peter' is not really German."

"You'd really do it?" Doktor Falke asked warily.

"I might, if you do me one favour in return. Newkirk, where it that mistletoe?"

"Right here." Newkirk put the sprig in Kinchloe's hand.

The sergeant held the mistletoe above Doktor Falke's head. "Doktor Maria Helena Falke. Call me 'Kinch' now, just once."

Doktor Falke shivered, but smiled. She took a deep breath. "Kinch."

Kinch bent and cupping her chin in his hand, guided her lips to his.

"How do I compare with Newkirk?" he whispered after he kissed her.

"You compare very well, dear mein Herr," she answered softly, hesitantly.

"Then you've got your Zwarte Pieter, Doktor, but take care whom you next insult. He may demand a harsher forfeit."

Colonel Hogan coughed. "I hate to break into your duet, children, but we do have a mission to accomplish. Since you seem to do so well with Kinch, Doktor, you should have no trouble flirting with Klink."

_Was I 'flirting' with Herr Kinchloewen?_ Marlena Falke felt bemused, dreamy, as if she was floating on bubbles.

"Flatter him. Tell him how sensual you find philanthropy to be. Tell him how impressed you are by generosity. Butter him up until he slips in the grease." Colonel Hogan cocked his head at her. "Doktor Falke?"

She blinked. "Did you say something, Colonel Hogan?"

"Did I say something? Doktor, I think that loaded Apfelsaft has finally hit you."

Kinch and Carter walked Marlena back to her cottage. They watched the falling snow swirl around the trees and the night wind wave the heavily laden branches up and down. It was a very dark, starless night, the kind of night that make you think of death rather than of life.

"Doktor Falke, do you believe in Santa Claus?"

Marlena smiled at Carter. "No, Herr Weiss. Do you?"

"No. Not really. I wish I still did. How I would've loved to see him fly across the sky last night."

"Like your friend 'Horse'."

"Yeah," Carter said wistfully. "Just like 'Horse'."

"He'd be shot down if he tried it now," Kinch replied. "But you're right, Carter. I wish Santa Claus had come here. I would've loved to have met him."

"Could you imagine if he was shot down and he was sent to Stalag Thirteen?" said Carter, excitedly.

"Or if we rescued him and he spent Christmas in the tunnel with us."

Marlena shook her head. "I thought you were too sensible to believe in Santa Claus, Sergeant Kinchloe."

"Now how am I to take that, Doktor? Every time you feel some scorn, you call me by my rank. What's the beef this time?"

"I didn't think you believed in a being who brings joy into the world. Not when you bring death into it."

Kinch heaved an exasperated sigh. "Doktor, you pacifists don't have a premium on love and joy. Soldiers are as human as you are. We've gone through this argument a million times. I don't like killing; but I have to do it. You don't like putting together shattered bodies, but you have to do it. Don't you wish to meet someone who brings joy into the world? I do. Of course I do."

"You are about to kill many people who work in that factory."

"And we are about to destroy a factory that makes weapons to kill many other people." He put his hands on her arms. "Doktor, if we could destroy the plant, but not the workers, we would do so. But we can't. That factory runs round the clock. People are always there. I know you don't understand. You probably don't want to, but try. If we don't end a few lives – O.k. More than a few – a lot more people are going to suffer much worse for much longer."

"We have to do it, Doktor," Carter agreed sadly.

Marlena sighed. "We're constantly at an impasse, gentlemen."

Kinch grimaced. "We said it was going to be over the Niagara, didn't we? Building that bridge between us."

"The swirling rapids," Marlena Falke sighed.

"The falls," added Carter with a grimace.

"I wish there were angels rowing against the current to save us, like they saved your ancestor, Herr Kinchloewen."

"Maybe there are, Doktor Fledermaus. Maybe we just don't see them as such."

"What do you mean?"

"What if you had gone home at the start of the war? You would not have been here to save LeBeau's life. He just hinted that you may have even saved it once before. You know how stubborn he is. He would've got out of that hospital half dead, and either his wound or another capture would've finished him. You were the angel in his river. I don't know about Carter here, but I would have gone stir crazy without your company this past year."

"Corporal Simms can't go to town either; but he does all right."

"How do you know?" Carter laughed. "When Marcus Simms says more than five words at a time, it's an event."

"Simms does not sit in a dark tunnel every night listening for beeps and clicks."

"Neither need you, mein Herr, according to your colonel and Corporal Newkirk."

Kinch sighed. "I can't trust Newkirk with the radio. He's a devil may care joker, and I'm the devil who cares for it. Do you know what it's like to fix? It has parts from at least twelve sets I've salvaged. English. German. American. French. Even Russian parts. Remind me to tell you sometime how we got those. The radio's too precious and too temperamental to let anyone else fool with. Besides, what else am I good for?"

Marlena touched his sleeve. "Dear mein Herr, you must be still depressed. What else are you good for? From the first moment of our acquaintance, you impressed me with your skill and your self-control. Corporal LeBeau's life lay in your hands as much as in mine. From the first moment I entered your tunnel, I was reminded that it could not be run without you. The radio, the allotment of living space, everything passes through your hands."

"Except mission planning."

"Well, you must leave your colonel something to occupy his mind."

Kinch grinned. "He's right about you. Always sticking your thorn in his back."

"He's just as quick to stick his in mine. And your work keeps me awake for days on end, which does not improve my disposition toward you."

"Or mine, but not toward you, Doktor Fledermaus. You were there for us, which makes you our angel, and never since my grandmamma Lily's day was there an angel so determined to row against the current of her times."

Doktor Falke looked at Kinch and at Carter with affection. They had thrust themselves into her mouse like existence, demanding she heal their injured friend LeBeau. They had roused her, teased her, tormented her, stimulated her mind, coaxed her into action, confronted her and comforted her. How had she lived without them until now? How could she live without them when she or they must leave? Two angels in khaki and olive drab, with stripes on their sleeves, who rescued her from her loneliness and fear.

"I love you both. But how can I live with that love, when I hate what you do?"

"War does create dilemmas," Kinch sighed. "I wish we could solve that one."

"Yeah, it sure does create dilemmas," said Carter. "We've got to blow up a toy factory, because it isn't making any toys. Poor old Schultzie. He's our enemy, but he's also our friend. I don't think I'm going to like doing it."

"But we're going to do it."

"It's kinda like we were blowing up Santa's workshop."

"Herr Schultz is much like Santa Claus, isn't he?" Doktor Falke smiled ruefully.

"Yeah," Kinch admitted. "But let's think of it this way. A lot of bad elves took over Santa Schultzie's factory. We've got to destroy those elves and what's in the factory, so that someday Santa can get it back, rebuild it and restore Christmas again."

Doktor Falke put her hand on Kinch's sleeve. "I'll try to think of it that way."

He put his hand over hers. "That's my Doktor Fledermaus."

**Stalag Luft 13 Colonel Robert Hogan's Quarters. December 26, 1943 6:10 p.m. 1810 hours**

"Colonel Hogan. Why are all of you suddenly so interested in my toy factory? Yesterday it was Sergeant Kinchloe. Today LeBeau tried to bribe me with Apfelstrudel."

"And you refused to eat it."

"Of course not! It was delicious. Just like Mutti used to bake. Nein, even better than what Mutti used to bake." Schultz rolled his eyes in ecstasy and licked off the residual crumbs of strudel sticking to his lips. "But I don't trust you. And I don't like the sudden questions. I know you are up to something and that it involves my factory."

"Schultz." Colonel Hogan put on his most patient, helpful manner. Schultz looked at him with increasing suspicion and alarm. "The men were just interested in your story about your grandfather. They're fascinated that you make toys and they just want to know more about it."

"Nein. That can't be it. I know that they know that I made toys before the war, and they know that I know that they know, and they know that I know that they know that I know and…." Schultz counted on his fingers and started mumbling to himself. He threw up his hands. "That is not the point, Colonel Hogan. Why are they suddenly so interested in my toy factory? I haven't made toys since the government took it over to make weapons."

The American colonel patted the German guard's vast back. "The fellas felt sorry that you could not send toys to the poor and injured children this year, like you've always done. They don't want a fine family tradition to die out just because there's a war on, so they thought…. I admit it's crazy but they thought – and I agreed with them – they thought that we could get out the toys in your warehouse and distribute them. I'm sure that Doktor Falke keeps a list of sick children that she visits regularly. She could help with the distribution."

Schultz visibly relaxed. His eyes went dreamy. "I would like that. To see the little faces happy again. But how, Colonel Hogan?"

"Could Klink commandeer them? He's your commanding officer, and you still own the company."

"But I signed away my factory to the government, and Heidelburg is outside the Kommandant's area of control."

"If we got the toys to a warehouse in Hammelburg, within Klink's jurisdiction, Doktor Falke could persuade him to commandeer them for her patients."

"Ja. She is a nice lady beneath her severe expression. Between you and me, Colonel Hogan, I think she is shy in front of men in German uniforms. That's why she looks so stiff. Sometimes I have seen her laugh with the children, or once or twice here with Carter or Newkirk or Kinchloe." He whispered in the colonel's ear. "I do not want to tell her that she should not laugh with the enemy. It creates such a bad impression in certain big shots' minds."

"I'll mention it to the guys. They'll play her some chill." Hogan smiled, touched by Schultz's concern for Marlena. The lady needed friends, and Schultz was a good one. "Thanks for telling me."

"Danke. I do not want our Doktor Falke getting shot."

"Neither do I."_ Nor us with her. _"But she could be very helpful in finding good homes for the toys in your warehouses."

Schultz's brows came back together. "What makes you think there are still toys in my warehouses?"

"There must be. The war came on so suddenly. It must've caught you unprepared. It did us."

"Now you are joking, Colonel Hogan. You must have known since Munich that there would be war." He sighed. "But you are right. The takeover of my factory did catch us unprepared." Schultz's eyes clouded at the memory. "They came into my office. An S.S. officer, hardly taller than LeBeau, with two big unterofficiers carrying machine guns. They talked about how we should make sacrifices for the glorious Vaterland. I asked the Sturmbannfuerher if the Vaterland's Kinder must sacrifice their Christmas joy. One of his men poked his gun in my belly. They made me sign away my factory."

Schultz looked at Colonel Hogan. "Not even during the last war did the government stop the Schatze Toy Company from making toys."

"Toymakers even to Kaiser Wilhelm?"

"Ja. So I told Sergeant Kinchloe." Schultz grew wistful. "Mein Vater's days, before that war, were glorious days, Colonel Hogan. Toys of such beauty, such workmanship, such enjoyment. I dreamed of making toys like Papa's."

He shook his head. "I thought, after the Great War ended, that I had my chance to 'make my mark', as you call it, but it was not to be. The high inflation here, and then the world depression, made it very hard to make toys like Papa's, or even develop more than one or two designs of my own. This war has destroyed whatever dreams I had left."

Schultz looked up. "They should've left us alone, Colonel Hogan."

Colonel Hogan patted his back again, this time with sincere sympathy. "Yeah. Kinch told me how you felt." He paused. "Schultz. Are there still toys in your warehouses?"

"I doubt it, Colonel Hogan. They will not let me visit my factory. There are guards posted all around it."

"Is there a way you could find out?"

Schultz looked squarely into his eyes. "You mean, is there a way I can smuggle you inside so you can do some monkey business?"

Colonel Hogan hid his alarm as best he could. _Sometimes I forget that Schultz is not as stupid as he acts._

"Schultz, we want to do this for you too."

They looked at each other candidly. Schultz dropped his eyes. "I wish there was a way. Perhaps I was not brave enough to make one for myself. Perhaps I could find one now."

"Thank you, Schultz." Colonel Hogan paused. "Schultz, I know we owe you a lot."

The big guard waved his hand to shush him. "I don't want to know anything about what you are planning. I want to do this for the children."

"They'll thank you for it, Schultz." Colonel Hogan sincerely meant it. "A lot of children will thank you for it."

**Stalag Luft 13. Kommandant's quarters. Mid morning of December 27, 1943.**

"Froehe Weinachten, Herr Kommandant Klink." Doktor Falke smiled warmly and squeezed Klink's hands in hers.

Colonel Klink's jaw dropped. So did his monocle, splintering on the floor. Doktor Falke recalled Newkirk's offhand remark that the Kommandant must order his monocles by the carload, he smashes so many of them. She bit her lower lip to stifle a laugh.

"Froehe Weinachten indeed, dear lady! When they announced you at the gate, I could not believe it. I did not think that you would care to honour me with a Christmas visit."

"_Nor would I, Herr Kommandant, if I did not think the outcome so important,"_ Marlena Falke replied inwardly. She tugged her hands gently until the Luftwaffe officer finally released his grasp on them.

She looked at Klink, jaunty, trim and tall, and wondered why she disliked him.

His baldness did not put her off. It actually made him look more distinguished.

His uniform? Perhaps what it stood for. She despised men who made their livings killing others. Yet, Colonel Hogan was also a career officer. She did not despise him as much. Indeed, she always had to fight his charm. Perhaps because Klink's uniform is Goering's uniform, and Goering is Hitler's thug. The whole world has seen what evil Hitler has spawned.

And the Kommandant is too smarmy, too obsequious. No woman liked to be so fawned over. It denotes a lack of real feeling. It says, 'I'm courting you by the book, my dear. I say pretty things to you. You do pretty things to me in return.'

"_Not likely, Kommandant. Stick to Frau Linkmeyer."_

_And you, Maria Helena Falke. Stick to what you want from him._

She turned away from him slightly, as if shy, and patted her hair. Women always primp their hair when in the presence of a man who attracts them. She wondered why the streaks of grey in her reddish brown hair, or the sedate roll, did not put him off. After all, she was thirty-three and prematurely old for her age. She glanced down at her long blue dress, her high brown boots_. "The finest legs beneath bloomers." And his colonel agreed with him._

She bit her lips hard to restrain a flow of tears.

_Perhaps it's the way I'm dressed. I must remind Herr Klink of his mother._ Not for the first time, Doktor Falke wished she could wear shorter skirts. Then she felt the linsey-woolsey fabric of her petticoat against her calf. It was warm, and it covered her blemishes. It was familiar and comforting. No, she would not give them up. Not yet. She needed all the comfort and security she could get. Especially now, she thought, repressing a shiver.

Kommandant Klink offered her some wine. She declined it with thanks.

She bit her lower lip again and summoned up a smile. _How am I going to do this? That smile of his. It's like looking at a death's head. Try, Marli! There must be something about him that is positive. Something kind, something generous, something vulnerable. Something we can use to win him over._

_Herr Kinchloewen once said, "When cornered, read your enemy's eyes. Don't look away from them. Wait for your moment. Then hit fast and hard." His colonel said, "The only way to diddle Klink is to go in flying and don't stop for breath." Well, meinen Herren, let us hope I've learned from you when to feint and when to strike."_

"Herr Kommandant, may I confide in you?"

"Of course, my dear. I am entirely at your service."

"I need to ask a favour of your Sergeant Schultz; but I'm quite sure that he will refuse. I thought, since you are his commanding officer, you could … ." Doktor Falke paused, looking doubtful.

Klink leaned forward, his eyes eager. "Yes, dear lady?"

'_Count it out, Doktor."_ She heard a voice inside her head prompt her. _"Five… Six... Seven…Eight…"_

She inhaled and looked at him hesitantly. "I was told that Sergeant Schultz owns the Schatze Toy Company." She hastened on. "Now, I am aware that he turned over his factory to the war effort and it is no longer producing toys. But, I was also told that he still has access to his warehouses, and that in them are hundreds of unsold toys."

She gave the kommandant a shrewd look. "The sergeant knows how great is the demand for toys at Christmastime. Parents do not want to disappoint their little ones. Toys are fetching a very high price on the black market right now. Too high, I'm afraid, for me to pay for them out of the Winterhilfe funds alloted to me. Sergeant Schultz knows that. He knows others can meet his high prices."

"Are you saying that Schultz is dealing in the black market? One of my men? Nonsense, Fraulein Doktor."

"_The shock and dismay in your voice is a little overdone, mein Herr,"_ she said silently. Then, aloud, "Ja, Herr Kommandant. Your Sergeant Schultz."

Klink's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do you know about it, Fraulein Doktor, unless you've had dealings yourself?"

Doktor Falke shrugged. "Herr Kommandant, you know the ways of the world. If I cannot obtain what I need legitimately for the orphans, or for my needy patients, I must find other sources of supply." She spread her hands helplessly and heaved a sigh. "Little gifts now and then, hints in the right ears, a whisper that one can get a bargain here or there, an offer to trade this for that."

Klink's eyes were fixed on her bosom, waiting for her to heave another sigh. He was almost salivating.

Doktor Falke felt panic rising in her throat. _I've never flirted before. Am I overdoing it? What am I involving myself in?_

She steadied herself. "With the Schatze Toy Company's reputation for quality, Sergeant Schultz could name the highest price for his toys. He could ask for a king's ransom, and get it.

"Of course, I could denounce him to the authorities as a black marketer; but how would that profit me? The Gestapo would impound the toys – perhaps destroy them - and lock up both Sergeant Schultz and yourself as well, Herr Kommandant."

"Me?" Klink squeaked. "Why would they lock me up?"

"You are his commanding officer, and you are much more intelligent than Sergeant Schultz. They would think you were behind the trading." Doktor Falke hesitated. She did not want to use this card, but Klink was looking unconvinced. "I have heard rumour that Major Hochstetter from the Gestapo has harboured suspicions about you."

She shrugged with apparent nonchalance, while in her heart, she desperately prayed that what she said would not cost the lives of the prisoners of war.

"I know the gossip is unfounded, but you know the crazy things people say. There has been a lot of sabotage in the area. The hospital constantly runs short of splints and surgical thread, not to mention blood plasma. The nurses and I take bandages to wash at home, but there are never enough clean ones to reuse. All because of the sabotage and the enemy bombings. And you have so many soldiers of that same enemy here, nearby, in your camp."

"Of course it's ludicrous," she continued. "I've seen your Luftstalag. After all, I am the Red Cross liaison for the area. It's a model prison camp. The prisoners are locked up tight, and they are so well cared for that they don't even wish to escape. But that Major Hochstetter … ." She shook her head and spread her hands.

Klink no longer looked at her bosom. He looked sick.

"Perhaps you could – persuade – your sergeant to donate the toys to the orphans for Christmas. It would show how patriotic you are, and how generous. There you are, Schultz's commanding officer, convincing your sergeant to turn from the error of his ways. Brightening the lives of the orphaned children of the Reich – the children whose fathers and mothers died for the Fatherland."

Klink brightened up. He straightened his posture. "Ja. They could not say anything against me then, could they?"

"Herr Kommandant, you would be a hero to my little patients. A Saint Nicholas: liberating those imprisoned toys and delivering them safe and sound into their little arms. The children would bless you forever. And think of the prestige! Who could touch you? Everyone would sing your praises. 'Colonel Wilhelm Klink. So noble. So manly. So brave and yet so compassionate. So tender to the little children.' They'll probably write songs about you," Doktor Falke concluded emphatically.

"Ja. Ja. To be immortalized in song." He stood up proudly, all thought both of sex and of self-pity forgotten. His monocle gleamed as he thought of the fame. He strode to the outer door and flung it open.

"Schultz! Schultz! Where is he?" Klink crossed the threshold of the door. "Schultz!!" He stamped his foot in vexation.

What seemed an avalanche of snow fell from the roof, covering the Kommandant from head to foot in a coat of glittering white.

Doktor Falke rushed through the door and guided him back inside. "You must get out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia, Herr Kommandant." Glancing up, she thought she caught a glimpse of a head of fiery red hair at the apex of the roof; but it disappeared from view. "Now into your night attire and into bed. I'll make you a mug of hot tea to keep out the chill – or would you prefer coffee?"

"But I must speak to Schultz."

"You can do that after you are warm and well rested. Now, you must follow doctor's orders." She fussed him into his bedroom and shut the door on him. She crossed into the kitchen, closed the door and leaned against it.

That was close. It wouldn't have helped the cause if the Kommandant discovered that his sergeant of the guard, his senior prisoner of war officer and thirty of the prisoners had taken a trip to Heidelburg in two trucks and his staff car.

Reaching into her coat pocket, Marlena Falke drew out two white pellets. She looked at them. _Choral hydrate._ She filled the kettle with water and lit the stove. _I hope they work in hot drinks as well in cold._

She heard a soft knock on the back door. Cautiously opening it, she saw Group Captain Donovan standing outside. His uniform looked as if he had recently brushed snow off it.

"How are you, m'colleen? Is everything well in hand?"

Doktor Falke showed him the tablets in her hand. "Mickey Finnegans." He chuckled. "So t'is well in hand. From Colonel Hogan, are they?"

"How did you know?" Doktor Falke asked him, surprised.

"Ask Sergeant Kinchloe sometime about how well he slept the night of your last visit but one."

Doktor Falke raised her eyes and shook her fists. "I should've known! And after he promised he'd respect his privacy!"

"He did respect his sergeant's privacy. He guessed correctly what was in the man's letter; but he wanted to stage a surprise for him with the fruitcake. Did it relieve our good Kinchin's heart somewhat?"

She relaxed and gave the group captain a wan smile. "Somewhat, Herr Donovan." She sighed. "If Herr Kinchloewen can forgive his colonel, then I suppose I must."

"Good. I think our bold Robbie's half-way convinced to lift his ban concerning you. He realizes that his two sergeants need your company and you need theirs. If it's for the good of the operation, he'll let them visit you again – so grit your teeth, mavoreen, and act agreeable to him."

"I'll try, Herr Donovan. Thank you for what you just did. What inspired you to do it?"

The group captain grinned. "I enjoyed cooling old Klink's ardour; but t'was Colonel Hogan and his operations manager who inspired it. Good day, m'colleen." He winked at her and left her to her thoughts and the boiling teakettle.

**In front of the former offices of the Schatze Toy Company, Heidelburg:**

"Colonel Hogan. I do not like this."

"You can't get cold feet now, Schultz. Don't worry. We'll keep you out of it as much as we can."

"That's what you always say."

"And haven't I lived up to it? You're still here and eating strudel, instead of at the Russian Front eating your snowshoes. Brace up and act like a sergeant of the Third Reich guarding two prisoners on a work detail."

Schultz ventured a doubtful glance at the American officer. He had to admit it. From cap to boot, Colonel Hogan looked the epitome of a high-ranking Nazi officer. And the look he directed at Kinchloe and Simms – as if he was clinically regarding two repulsive slugs. No one would guess that he was looking at his own men.

"Very well," Schultz sighed. He put on his gruffest manner. "Stand at attention!" he bawled. "Eyes front! None of your insolence! You are under the command of Sergeant Schultz, the Terror of the Luftwaffe!"

Kinch and Marcus Simms exchanged a glance out of the corners of their eyes. Schultz continued to bawl them out, shouting as loudly as he could to draw everyone's attention from the truck parked nearby and the men emerging from it. Men and women stopped passing to and fro to gape at the two black POW's, and to listen and admire the insults the sergeant flung at them.

Kinchloe's glance shifted imperceptibly to Colonel Hogan.

"_If we weren't doing this for the Allied cause…."_

"_I know, Kinch. Hold tight. They're almost in position."_

As Schultz ranted, the trunk of the staff car opened. LeBeau cautiously crept out and closed the lid. He slipped into the shadow of the building. The black leotard he wore made him practically invisible in the darkness.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Olsen, dressed in the uniform of that portion of the Nazi military machine responsible for accomplishing Herr Speer's production objectives, hustled twenty-five other men in civilian workman's attire and eight men in uniforms similar to his own from the back of the truck. Under the shirt or jacket of each man was one of Carter's demolition packs. The explosives were smaller than his standard sized demolition packs, Carter had taken pains to tell them back at Stalag Thirteen, but they caused just as much damage.

The men formed up in lines beside the truck, trying to look as weary and dejected as only conscripted labour could look.

Newkirk, dressed in a neat black suit as an inspector of production, sauntered over from the staff car. Carter, dressed as his assistant, followed close behind, pushing his wire-framed glasses up from the end of his nose. Together, they inspected the men. Newkirk glowered at the motley crew, reminding them with his eyes to remember the instructions they were given back at the prison camp.

"Right. Carter and I will look over the plant with the foreman. You are to walk about, pretending to be on errands or going to the latrines until you get to your assigned area. When you get there, keep out of sight or watch the real workmen and blend in as well as you can. Carter will signal to you where to plant your explosives, or, if you're too far away, he'll signal to Olsen, who will be sauntering about nearby. Plant them and return to the trucks as inconspicuously as possible.

"Olsen, when we're near them, you and your eight stooges must pay special attention to the warehouses. Note the entrances and exits, how heavily each one is guarded, where we can drive our trucks up to it and how well we can keep them concealed from the goons at the gate and in the compound."

"How will we know which warehouses have the toys?" asked Olsen.

"Schultz told Colonel Hogan that his company had six buildings full of toys ready for shipment when the S.S. took over. If all goes well, we'll have time to fill one truck – the one Schultz is bringing Kinch and Simms in. They have to get inside the director's office files and find out which warehouses, if any, still hold the toys. Schultz or the colonel will signal that to us, either themselves or through LeBeau, who will be stationed outside near the office windows.

"We must overpower the goons guarding it and get in and out quickly and quietly. If the guards near the other warehouses see us – well, mates, it will be all up with the lot of us. We'll be shot, either on sight or when they arrest the guys in the office, find out they're from dear old Stalag Thirteen and put two and twenty-seven together.

One of the men spoke up. "Seems like we're playing a lot of this by ear – and just for a load of toys. Why not just set the timers and scram?"

"Look, pal," said Carter coldly. "Colonel Hogan wants it done this way. Schultz is deliberately turning his back on us. Heck, he's even risking his hide for us, so long as we get those toys. I bet he knows what we're really going there to do and he's letting us do it."

"Yeah, mates. We owe him for two years of seeing nothing. If we pay some of it back by helping him honour his family's tradition, I think it's worth the risk. If you don't, then leave right now."

None of the men stirred.

"Right then. Remember to set the timers for 1700 hours – at the change of shift." Newkirk gave Carter a hard look. "That goes for you too, Herr Carterhoff."

"Jawohl, Herr Neukirche!" Carter raised a stiff armed Nazi salute and giggled. Newkirk scowled at him.

Newkirk now concluded the instruction. "Get back here as quick as you can without attracting attention by running. Even a fast trot will look suspicious with this lot. After all, these poor sods are driven hard to fill their production quotas. In the truck and keep the tarpaulin closed. Olsen will drive out the truck you came in on three hours from now and you better be inside it." Newkirk looked at his watch. "Let's go."

Olsen marched the 'workmen' across the open area in front of the office building. As soon as they were out of sight, Colonel Hogan gave an almost imperceptible nod. Kinch coughed softly. Schultz ended his tirade with a menacing glare.

"Raus! Mach schnell!"

The prisoners picked up the ropes and paint buckets at their feet and followed Schultz inside the building.

"Painting detail from Stalag Nine," Schultz grumbled to the man at the marble kiosk in the foyer. He showed them a pass, signed by General Burkhalter and countersigned by the Kommandant of Stalag Nine. Neither signature was genuine. "To paint the office of the director of the factory."

The clerk checked the pass in a bored manner and handed it back. "Ja. Upstairs. Third floor."

Schultz just managed to check himself from saying "I know. It used to be my office." He ushered his charges into the elevator.

The clerk looked up at the next arrival. Never did a face so rapidly change countenance: from boredom to terror to obsequiousness within ten seconds.

"Herr Gruppenfuehrer! Heil Hitler, sir, and welcome to our factory! Please tell me what I may do for you?"

Slapping his leather gloves repeatedly against his left hand, the officer replied in tones of steel. "I wish to see the director of this factory at once. I have come from Berlin on very particular business and will not be kept waiting while guards and prison rats are accommodated ahead of me."

"Of course, Herr Gruppenfuehrer! I assure you, it will not happen again."

"I assure you it will not happen again. Well, why isn't he here to greet me?"

"I – I – I." The desk clerk fumbled at the register. "If the Gruppenfuehrer would honour me by repeating his name?"

Hogan sighed in bored impatience. His glanced at the fat Luftwaffe sergeant and his two black prisoners as they entered the elevator. "I did not state it to you, but it is Hoganschwein. S.S. Gruppenfuehrer Hoganschwein. I have come from Berlin to chat with your director about the regrettable laxness he has permitted this factory to fall into." He added silkily, "I see I must do more than chat with him."

The desk clerk gulped.

"You do not even have my name in your book, do you?"

"Ja, Herr Gruppenfuehrer. Ja. The director is expecting you. He made a point of telling me to give you every assistance. Would you like me to escort you to his office?" Clearly it was the last thing the poor clerk wanted to do.

"Nein." Hogan gave the clerk a wolfish smile. "I shall surprise him. The third floor, did you say?"

"Ja, Herr Gruppenfuehrer." The desk clerk gulped again.

'Gruppenfuehrer Hoganschwein' looked at him beneath hooded eyes. "Danke."

He walked to the elevator, making a point of taking the one not used by the Luftwaffe sergeant and the two black prisoners of war.

They met him in front of the elevator doors on the third floor. He pulled Schultz to one side and glared at Kinch.

"You were supposed to be inside the office by now."

"I know, Colonel, but Schultz won't budge."

Schultz shifted from foot to foot. "Colonel Hogan. What if he recognizes me?"

Hogan laid his palms on the guards wide chest. "Shhh. He won't, Schultz. Trust me. If he's the same guy, he'll have long forgotten what you look like. If he isn't, even better for us. Just close your eyes at the fatal moment." Hogan looked at the quivering sergeant. "Trust me, Schultz."

Schultz shuddered, but he pulled himself erect, took a deep breath and nodded. Hogan nodded back, his smile reassuring.

The four men walked along the corridor. Schultz first. Then Kinchloe and Simms. Colonel Hogan lagged behind; gently closing each open door as he passed by.

Schultz showed his pass to the director's secretary, a prim, narrow nosed, narrow lipped, angular woman.

"Stalag Luft Neun? That's forty miles from here. Why do you bring these men forty miles, just to paint an office?"

Schultz gaped at her foolishly.

"We are very talented painters, Fraulein, and very fast workers." Sergeant Kinchloe gave her his most unctuous smile. "Reichmarshal Goering swears by our work more than he does that of any other prisoner work crew in any of his Luftstalags. I guarantee that we will be in and out of here within an hour."

The secretary looked aghast at the audacity of a prisoner of war – a Negro prisoner of war at that – addressing her, a member of the master race.

Schultz saw Kinch's blunder but could only stare speechlessly at the fuming woman.

"How dare you presume to address this Fraulein!?!!" Colonel Hogan, dressed in his S.S. uniform, struck Kinchloe across the face with his leather gloves and shouted abuse at him. It had the effect of immediately ensuring the secretary's trust. She turned meltingly toward him.

Kinchloe mimed his _"The things I have to endure for the operation"_ look to Corporal Simms behind the secretary's back. Simms looked as impassive as ever. Kinch shot him a glance. _Sometimes I think there's Red Indian blood in Simms. I must ask Carter if he has any relatives among the Buffalo Soldiers._

"Is the director in his office, my dear?"

"Nein, Herr Gruppenfuehrer, but we expect him momentarily."

Colonel Hogan looked at his watch. "Surely it must be time for your mid morning Kaffee, Fraulien…"

"Schnittel, Herr Gruppenfuehrer. Gerta Schnittel."

"Gerta. Such a lovely name for such an alluring young woman," Hogan purred.

Simms lips twitched. _"Glad to know you're human, Marcus,"_ Kinch said silently.

"I have no pressing need to see Herr Director. Why don't I buy you lunch? We could become better acquainted. Would you like that, Gerta – I mean, Fraulein Schnittel?"

"Oooh, ja, mein Herr! I would like that very much."

"Then let us go, my dear." Hogan turned to Schultz. "You! Take these – these pigs and go about your business." He helped Fraulein Schnittel into her coat, caressing the back of her neck as he did so, to her extreme delight. They left the outer office together.

"That was not very nice, the things he said to you," Schultz said reprovingly to Kinch as the door closed.

"Don't worry about it, Schultzie. He didn't mean them." Kinch and Simms each donned a pair of very supple leather gloves. "Now, stay in the outer office and watch for approaching company."

"What are you going to do, Sergeant Kinchloe?" Schultz asked nervously, grasping Kinch by the elbow as he turned to follow Marcus Simms into the inner office.

"You don't want to know, Schultz. Just make a noise if anyone comes."

He gave Schultz's hand an encouraging pat and closed the door to the inner office in the big German's face.

"I thought Goering swore _at_ our work, not _by_ it," said Marcus Simms.

Kinchloe held his hand against Simms mouth and pointed to the light fixture in the ceiling. Simms nodded an apology. Of course, the office would be wired for sound.

They searched through the papers in the desk and in the cabinets. The noon whistle blew. They glanced at each other, wondering how Newkirk and Carter were faring.

"Gerta, Liebchen. It's your Poopsie Bunny."

"Oh brother," Kinch mouthed to Marcus Simms. They took up their positions, one on either side of the door. Simms fingered the hilt of a knife sheathed at his waist.

"You're not Gerta! Who are you?" The voice was slurred. Kinch glanced at Simms, who nodded. Herr Director was drunk as a skunk.

"I am Sergeant Hans Schultz, of Stalag 13, Herr Director." In his panic, Schultz had forgotten the lies he was to tell. He began to recite his serial number, but was cut off by a curse and a blow.

The two prisoners tensed. The door opened. The Nazi officer walked through. Kinch grabbed him under the chin, snapped his head back and twisted it violently, dragging the body away from the door just as Simms closed it.

"Nicely done," Marcus Simms remarked, watching his companion lay the director down on the open tarpaulin.

"Comes with practice." Kinchloe felt his victim's neck for a pulse, the rose from his crouch with a sigh of satisfaction.

Schultz cautiously opened the door. One side of his face burned red. He looked down at the corpse, then up at the man standing beside it. His jaw dropped. One of his 'cowed' prisoners had killed the director of the factory.

Kinch again pointed to the light. He came to Schultz and whispered in his ear. "We found the plans of the warehouses." He handed the sergeant a file of papers. "From what's on these, it looks like one still has your toys inside it."

Schultz skimmed through the papers. "Ja. They are in there." He gazed down at the body of the director. His face hardened. This man had taken away his factory, and with it, his self-respect. "But how do we get them out?"

Kinch smiled a grim smile. "Leave that to Colonel Hogan. Help Simms get rid of 'Poopsie', will you? I've got other work to do."

A very officious manager was conducting Carter and Newkirk, disguised as production officers, around the rifle assembly plant.

"This used to be the Schatze Toy Company factory, gentlemen. Of course, we had to change a lot inside the plant when we converted it from toys to weapons."

"From toy rifles to the real McCoy – I mean the real Mauser," corrected Carter hastily.

"My colleague, Herr Carterhoff, watched too many American Western movies when he was a little boy." Newkirk said quickly, scowling at his companion. "I'm afraid that National Socialism has not yet cured him of all his regrettable errors."

"Surely, Herr Neukirche, watching American Westerns is not so regrettable. I was fond of Tom Mix when I was ein Jugend."

"It is not the forward thinking way of our beloved Fuehrer, Herr Foremann. He does not admire the Americans. For the British, he as a reluctant respect; but to him the Americans are too interbred."

"Jawohl, Herr Neukirche. You are quite right. I will adjust my thinking accordingly."

"I hope that there are no vulgar American toys lurking in odd corners of this factory. This Schultz, the former owner of the factory, did he make any toys similar to the Americans?"

"Oh no, sir. He used American production methods, I regret to say; but that was because this factory produced so many toys. It was the largest and most prestigious toy factory in Germany, perhaps in all of Europe. The Schatze Toy Company filled orders from all over the world. It could not keep up with the demand for quality toys."

"Better toys than the Americans?"

"Much better, mein Herr."

"I would like to see some of these toys," Herr Carterhoff growled. "Are there any about?"

"Oh Jawohl. There is an entire warehouse full of unsold toys. Let me show them to you at once."

The fussy little manager let the way through the compound of the factory until they came to a large building near the railway tracks. "They were to be shipped to England, France and the Netherlands for Christmas four years ago, meinen Herren. But then our glorious armies swept through Poland, and those countries declared war upon us."

He looked around conspiratorially. "In confidence, there used to be six such warehouses full of toys; but Herr Goebbels and Herr Goering took most of the toys for their children and those of their friends. In fact, there were some toys in the vaults here that were made by Gunther Schultze, the founder of the Schatze Toy Company. I did not see them myself, naturally; but it was said they were very beautiful and very valuable. Of the finest craftsmanship. Herr Goering presented some of the lesser pieces to der Fuehrer. The rarer toys…." The manager shrugged.

_Poor Schultzie. They did not leave him his own family heirlooms. _ Newkirk gritted his teeth to keep his fraying temper in check.

The manager conducted them through the warehouse, pointing out the location of each type of toy. Carter asked to see an example of each one. While he examined the toys with the manager and commented on their workmanship, Newkirk looked around the warehouse, noting entrances and exits, sizes and distances. There were not a vast number of toys in the warehouse, but there were enough to satisfy all on Doktor Falke's list, if they could get them out without getting caught. He shook hands with the manager, nudging Carter to do likewise.

"We must see the head of the factory before we leave to report to Herr Speer," Herr Carterhoff drew on his gloves. "Would you conduct us to his office, bitte?"

"With the greatest pleasure, gentlemen. Come, it's this way."

LeBeau crawled out from under the last vehicle. _"There. When the filthy Boche leave tonight, they will not be leaving through the gate."_ It had been risky going back and forth from the trunk of Klink's staff car to the other vehicles in the parking lot, but it was worth the risk. He had wired a demolition pack beneath almost every car and truck except those he and his fellow prisoners had come in. They were set to go off just before those in the factory. The confusion will be greater if the big brass who give the orders were dead or critically injured.

_The colonél will drive Klink's car out of the factory. Newkirk and Carter will ride with him. Olsen will drive out with his sabotage squad in the rear of one truck. Schultz will take the other truck with the toys hidden inside it, and Kinch and Simms inside it as well._

LeBeau had watched in gleeful satisfaction as the Nazi director heaved himself out of the driver's seat of his Mercedes-Benz and staggered into the building. Kinch and Simms would have no trouble subduing that _couchon_. Now he saw Newkirk and Carter enter the office building, escorted by an obsequious little man who must be the plant manager. Carter glanced anxiously his way but Newkirk tugged his colleague's sleeve and shot him a dirty look.

The sound of an engine coughing into life arrested LeBeau's attention. The truck carrying the 'conscripted labour', with Olsen at the wheel, was leaving the compound. He watched it stop at the checkpoint, then heaved a sigh of relief as it passed through the gate. He glanced at his wristwatch. 1225 hours. So far, everything was proceeding on time.

Newkirk and Carter exchanged 'Heil Hitler's' with the manager inside the outer door of the former Schatze Toy Company's office building.

"I thought he'd never leave," Newkirk grumbled.

Carter stifled a giggle.

The English corporal in the German suit sauntered around the lobby. All was almost as Doktor Falke had described it to them. The great green and white marble information desk was in its place, but the rose and trumpet logo of the Schatze Toy Company was gone, replaced by a large ugly swastika. The re-enforced glass showcase still held pride of place in the center of the rotunda, although instead of toys, it held flags and pictures of Hitler and his upper echelon flunkeys.

Newkirk gave the display a cursory glance. He was looking for something else.

Carter, walking at his side, tried to emulate his friend's nonchalance, but he kept darting little glances at everyone they passed by. He knew what Newkirk was after – the plaque that announced to the world that the Schatze Toy Company bore the honour of Toy Maker to the King. It would imperil their lives and their mission, trying to steal it here and now, but Newkirk wanted that plaque for Schultz.

The young American touched his companion's sleeve. A handsome, dark haired man had just stopped the woman he was escorting from entering the elevator. He was looking in their direction. Now he had left the woman and was coming toward them.

"Bloody hell," Newkirk whispered.

The man stopped in front of them and raised his hand in the stiff armed 'Heil Hitler' salute. Both men responded with identical salutes.

"What are you two playing at now?" Colonel Hogan demanded, _sotto voce._

"We want to get Schultzie's plaque for him, sir," Newkirk replied, shamefaced.

"If it goes kaput with the rest of the place… ." Carter quailed under the furious frown of his commanding officer.

"Look. You'll need a diversion. Wait here, then follow me upstairs."

He walked back to the woman. "Gerta, Liebling. Those two men have been waiting for your boss to escort them around the plant, but he has not set foot inside his office. Do you know where he may be?"

"That stuffed hog? Since the two Schwartze are repainting his office, he is probably in one of the others, sleeping off his morning schnapps."

"No, darling. They have checked and he is not in the building. It is very important that he must be found. These men are personal assistants of Herr Speer himself and it will not go well for this plant if Herr Speer's assistants are kept waiting any longer."

"I do not care."

"But I would care."

"Would you really care, dearest?" Greta batted her eyelashes at him.

"Ja. That I would. My wife is Herr Speer's first cousin and very jealous of any woman who even looks at me. She can be very unpleasant." Hogan shook his head and sighed. "Maria. Poor Maria."

"Is that the name of your wife?"

"No. Only one of her victims. There was Gizela, Heidi, Anna, Magdala, Hanna. Like moths around a flame, they perished. Three in concentration camps after intensive interrogation. Maria was exposed to a corrosive acid. Heidi was thrown beneath a bus. Very messy deaths. Those men would report our meeting to Herr Speer at once." The 'Gruppenfuehrer' sighed dramatically. "He is very devoted to his cousin."

"Oh." Gerta backed away. "Perhaps I should see if Herr Director is inspecting production in the shop." She continued to back away. Auf Wie – I mean Guten Tag – I mean 'Heil Hitler.'"

The secretary moved out the door as fast as her dignity and her sensible shoes could take her.

"Heil Hassenfeffer." Colonel Hogan muttered with a smile, turning away on his heel. He walked to the elevator. Newkirk and Carter entered it just as the doors began to close.

"That took too much time. We've got to get out of here before she blows the whistle."

"But Schultz's plaque, sir!"

"We'll get it when we leave. Right now we have to get Kinch and Simms out of here."

He exited the elevator just as the doors opened and walked briskly along the corridor. Carter and Newkirk trotted at his heels.

He passed Schultz and entered the inner office. Kinch climbed down from the director's table, holding the listening device he had snipped from the light fixture. He refastened his jacket; hiding the toolbelt he wore around his waist, and dropped the director's wallet, papers and car keys into Newkirk's outstretched palm.

"What kept you, sir? The girl was too eager?"

"Yeah. It's getting harder to shake them off. Everything set to blow up here?"

"Simms is just finishing his part of it, sir."

"Ok. Where's our target?"

Kinch pointed to the diagram. "Appears Warehouse Number Two's the one."

"Kinch is right. It's Warehouse Two." Carter broke in. "We've seen inside, Colonel. Lots of toys."

"And Krauts?"

"Two at each entrance."

"And two entrances. One in the compound. One facing the railway tracks."

Schultz entered the inner office. Simms nodded to them from behind his back.

"Colonel Hogan! What are you going to do?"

"We're going to get your toys for you, Schultz. Isn't that what you want?"

"Ja. I do. But Sergeant Kinchloe killed the director. A very important person. When they find his corpse, they'll look for us."

Crossing his arms, Hogan glared into the big guard's face. "Schultz, are you in with us or not? If not, ring up Hochstetter now and give us all up – including yourself. If you are in with us, then sit quietly and let us do the work. It's up to you."

Schultz looked at the men around him. He saw the determination in each face. "I will wait outside. That way I will know nothing much more easily. Danke, Colonel Hogan. Danke, gentlemen." He tiptoed from the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Hogan let out an impatient breath. "O.k. Olsen and his elves have probably changed uniforms by now. They should be coming through the gate by 1300 hours. Kinch. Simms. These two want to grab Schultz's plaque on the way out. It'll mean staging a fight. One or both of you might get hurt or be put under restraint. Are you willing to take the risk?

James Ivan Kinchloe and Marcus Simms looked at each other.

"How long do you need, Newkirk?" Kinch asked.

"Five minutes and a screwdriver."

Kinch tossed over his multiplex pocket knife. "There should be one there. One change though. I fight Carter, not Simms."

"But I need to install my demolition pack in the foyer!" Carter said.

"And I need Carter to stand in front of me as a screen," Newkirk protested.

Hogan raised his hand. "Kinch is half right. It's more realistic if he fights a Kraut, rather than Simms. But, Kinch. Carter can't hold out against you for a moment. Attack me."

"You, Colonel? No."

"You want a tame Kraut to fight. I'm the only one available that will give you enough to make it look interesting. Don't pull your punches; but try not to hurt me too hard."

"What do we do about Schultz?" Newkirk asked. "He'll give the game away on the first blow."

"Simms, break away before Kinch and I start swinging. Make Schultz chase you outside. Give us five minutes; then let him capture you. Understood?"

Simms nodded. "Right, sir."

Hogan smiled at the lithe corporal. "Try not to get shot, Simms."

Simms grimaced. "Same to you, Colonel."

Carter turned from the window. "LeBeau's signalling. The guys are coming back through the gate. Oh, no! That woman you were with is coming back."

"Alone?"

"No. With that foreman."

"Any guards with them?"

"No, sir."

"Then our luck is still holding. I'll go, meet them in the foyer, and bring them upstairs." He glanced at the two black soldiers. "I'll take the lady. You two can toss for the man." He said as he left the room.

Simms looked at Kinchloe.

"My turn, Sergeant."

"Be my guest, Corporal."

"Don't kill him, Simms. He's really a nice guy." Carter interjected.

"Carter, we don't know any of the underground around here and we've no way to contact them to pick him up," Kinch argued.

"Then we'll have to take him with us when we leave and dump him in the woods outside of town on the way home."

All three men stared at Carter.

"All right, Andrew." Kinch smiled reluctantly. "Since it's Christmas."

Newkirk shook his head. "I hope you'll have room in the truck. I don't want to hear his nattering all the way back to camp if he's in the staff car with us."

They heard voices coming from the outer office. "Herr Formann, the plans should be in the desk. Third drawer down on the left."

Kinch and Simms took up their positions. Simms also took up a wooden chair. The door opened and Simms brought the chair down hard. The little man crumpled before he got more than two steps inside.

"A second too soon," Kinch remarked.

"Perfectionist," Simms grumbled amiably.

"Will you two stop arguing, send out Carter and Newkirk to guide the guys to the warehouse, and help me tie up the lovely Gerta?"

All four men exchanged their _"the things we must do for this operation_" expressions. Simms picked up one coil of rope and ushered Carter and Newkirk outside.

Kinch uncoiled the other rope. _I hope Schultz and those kids will appreciate what we're going through for their sak_es, he said as he bound Herr Formann's arms.

The twenty-five men, now wearing S.S. uniforms, formed a human chain, passing toys into the truck parked outside the railway loading dock entrance to the warehouse under Newkirk's and Carter's direction.

LeBeau made his way stealthily through the service entrance of the office building and downstairs to the basement. He planted his last demolition pack in the electrical room, next to the generator. He noted that the wiring was old, perhaps dating from the time of Schultz's grandfather. It will short out easily. With a few papers soaked in kerosene, he could make a very cheery blaze. Klink had left his newspaper in his staff car and there was a can of lighter fluid in the glove compartment. LeBeau cocked his head. _Why not?_

Guided by Schultz, Kinch and Simms carried their human burdens down the service stairwell and deposited them in the back of Olsen's truck next to a cache of toys.

The two men guarding it nudged each other. "Hey, a dame! Just what I wanted for Christmas, Schultzie!"

"Just keep them bound and blindfolded, Seaton," Kinch growled. "The less they know and the more fearful they are, the better for all of us."

"I hope they don't come to before we leave. Knocking in the motor we can explain away, but knocking in the back of a truck? That's not so easy."

"Schultz," Kinch laid a hand on his arm. "Promise us. Don't get involved in anything that happens in the next hour."

"How can I get involved when I do not know what is going on?"

"Just keep it that way, Schultzie, and we'll all be o.k. Just get out and to the truck with the toys."

They saw LeBeau emerge from the office building. Schultz's eyes bugged out and he began to stutter.

"Get in the Kommandant's car, Louis. This truck's already occupied."

"I will, mes amis. I just need to borrow something from Klink. Hello, Schultzie."

"LeBeau! What are you doing here?"

LeBeau patted Schultz's belly. "Do not ask me, my friend. Then I will not lie to you."

They heard the rumble of a truck, approaching from the direction of the warehouses. Olsen parked it beside them. Newkirk, Carter and eight men, carrying rifles, jumped from the tailgate.

"We've got the second lot, gents," Newkirk informed them. "Almost all your leftover stock, Schultz. It's quite crowded back there, what with the men and all."

"I hope the Krauts in the compound won't notice a few of their guards are missing." Olsen said.

"Plus a few boxes of rifles and ammunition." Carter added, grinning.

Schultz squeezed his eyes shut. "I know noth-ing. I see noth-ing."

"We thought, Kinch, that if you're going to be arrested, you might as well be arrested by your friends."

The corner of Kinch's lip twitched. "Thoughtful of you, Olsen. Stick around. You may have to arrest everyone else in the building."

"As well as the two of us." Carter chortled. "Don't worry, Kinch. Newkirk and I will get what we came for."

"Well, you just better. I'm not looking forward to facing death because I struck my commanding officer, even with his permission. The Krauts will think I punched an S.S. Gruppenfuehrer, remember? I'll be lucky if they don't lynch me on the spot."

"They won't," said Olsen. "You've got us protecting you."

Kinch shook his head and heaved a sigh. "Well, at least my sister got married. She won't be alone in the world. Tell Doktor Falke I prefer roses to lilies on my grave. Blood red ones, if she can get them."

He clapped Simms on the back. "Let's get back up the service stairs, guys, and get it over with."

Colonel Hogan scanned the foyer from the second floor landing. Newkirk and Carter were in position near the plaque. Two burly guards stood on either side of the entrance door. He could just glimpse Olsen and his gang of eight through the plate glass door, loitering outside on the steps. _Simms has to get past those gorillas and past the guys, so that they can block them from getting him. He's also got quite a distance to sprint if he's going to make it to the staff car._

He hoped that LeBeau was safely curled up in the trunk of Kommandant Klink's car, and that their two unexpected guests were still out cold in the truck.

_Good luck to us all_, he wished as he descended the stairs. He kept the numbers of the elevator visible to the corner of his right eye. Everything had to look spontaneous or they'd be seeing Great-Grandpa Gunther Schultze sooner than they desired to.

The elevator doors opened. Marcus Simms dashed past, jogging the colonel's elbow.

Colonel Hogan spewed a stream of curses and insults at him. Kinch spun him around and socked him on the jaw just as Simms passed between the two goons at the door. The sergeant shifted his punch aside and he didn't put his might into it, but the blow still stung and Hogan's senses reeled. Kinch had to grab the front of his uniform to keep him from falling.

True to his words, Schultz just stood there with his eyes closed, whimpering that he knew nothing of what was happening around him.

Olsen and his eight men poured across the threshold, but they didn't block the two goons guarding the door. The goons had decided to go for Kinch rather than Simms. Olsen managed to get his eight men between the goons and the fighters.

There was only one thing for Colonel Hogan to do. They were here to stage a fight, so a fight there would have to be. Barking out an order in German for Olsen to hold back the crowd so he can teach this Sweinhund manners, he gave Kinch a right cross, which the black sergeant blocked, followed by a left uppercut that connected. If Kinch wasn't strong and well trained, he would've went down beneath it. As it was, he came back hard with his right.

The two men had sparred in friendly fashion back at camp. Although the colonel was not up to his sergeant's skill, he could give back as good as he got. But now they had to make the fight look both realistic and hostile. Their lives, and those of at least thirty other men, were the stake.

Newkirk worked Kinchloe's pocket screwdriver manically. The precious plaque had been screwed on tight with both Germanic pride and thoroughness when the building was dedicated in 1883. The screws were rusted, but the rust held well. If he was doing the fighting and Kinch was prying the plaque loose, it would've come away in a moment. As it was …

"Come on! Carter muttered. "They can't keep it up much longer!"

"God help us, I can't get the bloody thing off!"

Newkirk tugged on the plaque in despair. He saw Kinch and Simms tortured to death, Colonel Hogan in front of a firing squad, Carter hung by the neck. _God help us._ He prayed. He wedged his fingers between plaque and wall and, squeezing his eyes shut, desperately tugged again, as hard as he could. With a 'crack', the plaque separated from the wall. He stared at it, as if he could not believe that it was actually in his hands. Then he quickly slid it under his coat.

"Come on, Andrew! Let's get out of here!" The two men slipped out the door and walked briskly to the staff car. It was all they could do to keep from running. They opened the doors, got inside. Newkirk turned on the ignition. Marcus Simms popped his head up from the floor of the back seat. "Aren't we waiting for Kinch and the colonel?"

"Colonel Hogan ordered us to get out the moment we got the plaque."

"You're going to leave them inside there?"

"They'll be all right, Simms." _I hope they'll be all right._

Newkirk put the car into gear and drove toward the main gate.

Colonel Hogan saw Newkirk and Carter walk out the door. His eyes met those of his opponent. The message and its acknowledgement flashed between them. The colonel delivered a right cross that sent Kinch sprawling to the floor.

He shouted at Schultz. "Get this scum out of my sight."

Schultz moved forward like a sleepwalker. "Jawohl, Herr Gruppenfuehrer," he murmured in a daze, responding to the uniform rather than to the man inside it. Olsen and Schultz together pulled a dazed looking Kinch to his feet and, with Olsen's eight men surrounding them, rifles at the ready, half led, half dragged him out the door.

Colonel Hogan brushed imaginary specks of dust from his sleeves and coolly examined his fingernails. He turned on his heel and sauntered through the foyer, passing guards and office staff without seeming to notice their stares of wonder and satisfaction. He walked through a small door in the back, then through a corridor to the service entrance of the building. He calmly walked to the truck containing the toys.

Sergeant Olsen smartly saluted and opened the passenger door. Colonel Hogan glanced beneath the seat.

"I didn't hurt you too much, did I, Kinch?" he asked as he climbed into the cab.

"Didn't feel it at all, Colonel."

"I sure felt you."

"I guess I don't know my own strength, sir."

Hogan chuckled. "You and Donovan. Two of a kind."

"Thanks for the compliment, Colonel. The Group-Captain's quite a man." Kinch smiled, and stretched out under the seat of the cab. Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Olsen covered him from view with the skirts of their long coats.

"Where's Schultz?"

"In the back of the other truck, Colonel, being tended to for shock by the other guys. Captain Margitsen's driving."

"Good. To the warehouse the underground found for us in Hammelburg, Olsen. Then home to Stalag Thirteen."

**In the children's ward of the hospital in Hammelburg. 7 p.m. 1900 hours December 27, 1943:**

The ringing telephone could hardly be heard through the sounds of the children's excited laughter and squeals. The adult patients sat back, Schnapps, wine or mulled Apfelsaft in hand, enjoying every shriek of joy or cry of delight. Even Kommandant Klink beamed at the children through his monocle.

Sergeant Schultz, wearing a false white beard and draped in the gaudiest bathrobe ever beheld by mortal eyes, handed a doll to Sergeant Kinchloe, who was wearing the second gaudiest bathrobe ever beheld by mortal eyes, as well as a crimson turban with a long white feather in its center. Schultz's blue eyes twinkled. He was having the time of his life, and so was Kinch.

Marlena Falke, when she beheld him entering the ward in Schultz's wake with Newkirk, Carter and LeBeau, nearly collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Kinch made a graceful salaam before her. "You wanted 'Schwartze Pieter', Doktor Falke. Here he is."

"I didn't think you'd do it, Sergeant Kinchloe." She smiled up at him. "Thank you so much."

"No. Thank-you, Fraulein Doktor. I wanted to repay you for your wise advice." He spread out his arms. The material hung in folds to the floor like a stage curtain. "Schultzie's second best bathrobe. Newkirk and LeBeau put in quite a few nips and tucks, but I'm drowning in it."

"Then I'm even more grateful to you, mein Freund," she whispered.

The two colonels stood by the punchbowl. Kommandant Klink stroked his shaven chin, perplexed.

"You know, Hogan? Dressed like that, your Sergeant Kinchloe reminds me of someone." Klink shook his head. "I can't place who it could be."

"_And I hope you never do,"_ Colonel Hogan replied inwardly. One thing neither he nor Kinch needed was for Klink to be reminded of Prince Makabana, the African ruler that Kinchloe impersonated a year ago in order to obtain new-style German currency for their operation.

Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau were dressed, like their colonel, in their usual uniforms. Worn and patched though they were, they made a delightful contrast to the drab grey uniforms of their guards.

The children loved Carter immediately. He looked so funny, and so reassuringly German. Everyone's Cousin Fritz. Even before he began to hand out the toys Schultz put into his hands, the smallest ones were already pulling on his pant legs and reaching up to him with demands to be held. The gangly American Sergeant did the best he could to satisfy them all. Neither Colonel Hogan nor his men could remember seeing such a wide grin stretch Carter's lips, not even when they blew up the Kessling oil refinery.

Newkirk's accent was also a hit with the children. The English corporal had to remind himself constantly not to lapse into German when he spoke to them, and to look at all times as if he did not understand a word they were saying. It made for some very droll expressions. He gave his audience every accent and every magic trick in his repertoire and he visibly luxuriated in the applause he received.

_Indeed, Comedy knows no barriers_, Doktor Falke had thought as she watched him pull candies and pfenning pieces from LeBeau's hair and ears and toss them at the children lying in their beds.

LeBeau had put aside his animosity toward all things Boche that night. He even put aside his rancour toward Newkirk's heavy handed teasing, acting without complaint as his fellow corporal's stooge. At this moment, he was assisting Sergeants Schultz and Kinchloe in distributing the gifts: bowing to each little girl and boy with his own unique brand of Gallic charm as he presented the toy.

Seeing his colleague was in such good humour, Kinch whipped off LeBeau's cap and placed his turban on the Frenchman's head. The two men, tall and small, bowed low to each other. The feather on the turban brushed against the sergeant's nose. He sneezed theatrically, blowing LeBeau just as theatrically backward against Newkirk, who fell forward against Carter, who fell against Schultz's massive girth. Everyone in the room roared with laughter.

"'Rob Hogan and His Four Stooges'", Colonel Hogan remarked, not entirely _sotto vo_ce.

Kinch grinned back at him, catching on. "Curly. Larry. Shemp and LeBeau," he replied, pointing in turn at Carter and himself, then putting his hands on the shoulders of Newkirk and LeBeau. "All at your service, Colonel."

"Qu'est-ce qui, 'Shemp'?" LeBeau asked Newkirk, who shrugged and shook his head. _"Americans. Who can figure them?"_

A nurse tugged at Doktor Falke's sleeve and mimed holding a telephone receiver to her ear. The doctor nodded. She shot a nervous glance at Colonel Hogan and followed the nurse from the room.

"Heil Hitler!" She spoke into the telephone receiver. She hated using that obligatory greeting, especially at this time, but rather that than arrest by the Gestapo, which could result in worse indignities. "Hello? Who is this? Oh, Captain Gruber from the Luftstalag. Ja? What a tragedy! Completely destroyed? Jawohl. I'll bring the Kommandant to the telephone. Please tell the hospitals in Heidelburg we will assist them in any way we can. Jawohl. Hold, bitte, and I'll locate Kommandant Klink."

She slowly put down the telephone receiver. _'The Schatze Toy Company. By Royal Appointment, First Toy Maker to the King.' For two hundred years the finest toy company in Germany. Internationally famous. Destroyed in less than half an hour._

"Fraulein Doktor? Why are you staring as if you've seen a ghost? Are you ill?" the nurse asked.

"Nein, Schwester. Could you bring Kommandant Klink to the telephone, bitte? And Sergeant Schultz. Bring him too. I need to speak to him immediately."

"Jawohl, Fraulein Doktor."

_What do I tell him? Everything his family accomplished. All the fine, wonderful, decent things his company stood for – rubble and ashes. And I helped to destroy it._

"Doktor Falke?" She looked up at Schultz, still wearing his ridiculous bathrobe and beard. "You wanted to see me, Fraulein Doktor?"

She looked across at Kommandant Klink, jabbering into the telephone. Then she looked beyond Schultz, to Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Kinchloe.

"_How do I tell him?"_ her eyes begged them for an answer.

She took a deep, deep breath. "Sergeant Schultz. Herr Schultz…"

"Doktor." Kinch interrupted her gently. "Maybe Schultz would rather hear it in privacy."

"You are right. Of course." Doktor Falke led them to an empty room. She motioned them inside. Colonel Hogan shook his head.

"Kinch and I will wait out here. Don't be afraid to tell him, Marlena. I think he already knows what you'll say." The colonel squeezed her forearm. "Don't say too much."

"Doktor…" Kinch began.

"I know, dear mein Herr. I can see from your faces that you do not like seeing Herr Schultz suffer. It comforts me."

She took a deep breath, walked over the threshold, and closed the door behind her.

Schultz sat on the bed, looking expectantly at her.

"Sergeant Schultz. I have bad news for you. Captain Gruber received a telephone message from the Gestapo in Heidelburg."

Schultz straightened up in alarm.

"No. It's not your family. They're safe and unmolested," she reassured him. She took another deep breath. "Your factory and warehouses are destroyed. They believe it was sabotaged by resistance agents who infiltrated the plant."

"My factory." Schultz said dully. He shook his head. "Nein, Fraulein Doktor. Not my factory. Not since the war began." He looked at Doktor Falke and said softly. "They made it into an evil place. I am happy that it is destroyed. I bless those who destroyed it."

Doktor Falke looked at him incredulously. "All your lifework. Your family's legacy. And you are glad it's gone?"

Schultz gave her a gentle smile. "That is not gone, Fraulein Doktor. Do you hear the children laughing right now? That is my family's legacy. I want to carry that to my grave."

"Can you rebuild?"

"I hope so, after the war is over, although where I will get the money to do it…. Maybe the Englander Newkirk will let me win a few thousand poker games, although Colonel Hogan once told me that in matters of money, Newkirk will go so far and no further."

Schultz rose and opened the door. "Colonel Hogan. Sergeant Kinchloe. Come inside, bitte."

The two men entered warily. Schultz carefully shut the door behind them.

"What's up, Schultzie?"

"Fraulein Doktor Falke just told me that my toy factory has been destroyed. The Gestapo say it was sabotaged."

"Was it, really?"

"That's hard luck, Schultzie."

"It would be, Sergeant Kinchloe, if they were still making toys in it. As that was not happening…" Schultz shrugged. "Why should I care?"

"You're really taking it well, Schultz." Colonel Hogan sounded sincerely impressed.

"I just thought you'd like to know. That is all."

"Schultz," Kinch said, "I'm not sure how much money I've got coming to me after I get home; but if you're going to rebuild your company, would you consider my investing in it?"

"And me as well, Schultz? We promise we won't take it over from you."

"Yeah. What do we know about making toys?"

"That is very generous, gentlemen. When the war is over, I will consider your offers very carefully."

"You won't accept them now?"

"Now, it would mean my life, trading with the enemy. After the war, when we are friends, perhaps. If I can learn to trust you in the meantime, which I doubt."

The two Americans exchanged wryly amused glances. Doktor Falke bit her lower lip to keep from laughing at them.

Colonel Hogan laid a hand on Schultz's broad arm. "You know, I've always thought you're smarter than you look."

Schultz smirked. "Well, Colonel Hogan. Now you have your proof."

He bowed and held out his arm. "Shall we return to the children, Fraulein Doktor?"

Doktor Falke laid her hand upon it. "I have to alert the emergency staffs and the other surgeons; but I do want to see the children laughing just once again."

Hogan and Kinchloe watched them leave the room.

"I had word from the underground in Heidelburg, Colonel. Doktor Falke and her colleagues will have a long wait. The bridges surrounding the plant are out of commission."

The colonel rose and the sergeant followed him to the door, just in time to see Schultz swing Doktor Falke into his arms and waltz her down the hall. His hearty laughter flowed back to them.

"He's taking it rather well."

"Better than I would've done, Colonel."

Colonel Hogan smiled. "It seems you're not the only one around here who distrusts me, Kinch."

"I don't distrust you, Colonel. I just prefer to watch my back when you've got that gleam in your eyes." Kinch gave him an arch look. "Now Doktor Falke. She distrusts you."

"She's also smarter than she looks. And she'd look too smart for her own good if she were in shorter skirts." He saw Marlena Falke's ankle length skirt bell out as Schultz turned her. He also saw her glowing, laughing face. "I think I'll get LeBeau to design her a frock for her birthday."

"She won't wear it, sir."

"Bet she will, Kinch."

"In London, Colonel? We plan to send her home soon, remember?"

"I remember. It may score her extra points with the Allied High Command to show the greatest legs ever hidden beneath bloomers."

"Colonel Hogan. Those are her legs and she wants them kept hidden."

"Five bucks, Kinch."

"Fifty, Colonel."

"Done."

**Stalag Luft 13 Kommandant Wilhelm Klink's office. December 29, 1943. 11:23am 1123 hours**

"Hogan, I called you here on a very serious matter concerning the demolition of the toy factory." Klink glanced at them nervously. "I just had a visit from Hochstetter. He told me that a number of very strange occurrences happened at the factory that day. Sifting through the rubble of the office building, they found the charred body of the director – dead of a broken neck. Fraulein Schnittel, his secretary, was interrogated. She claimed that the only people in the director's office that day were a pair of Negro prisoners of war and their guard from Stalag Nine on a work detail. A work detail that neither its Kommandant nor General Burkhalter authorized. Their descriptions match those of Schultz and your men Kinchloe and Simms."

Doktor Falke spoke up quickly. "But Herr Kommandant, it could not have been Sergeant Kinchloe and Corporal Simms! I saw them here! They were shovelling the heavy snow from the roof of your quarters. Remember? It came down all over you."

"What were they doing on the roof of my quarters?"

"Getting the snow off, before the roof collapsed under its weight," Colonel Hogan explained hastily. "Kinch has an eye for spotting potential disasters. The moment he saw all that snow on your roof, he pointed out to me what would happen. We couldn't risk our beloved Kommandant getting hurt, so I ordered him and Simms to get up on the roof and shovel it off." He turned to Schultz. "You even supervised them."

"I did?" Schultz looked confused. Colonel Hogan pressed his foot down on top of his. "Oh, ja! I did." He looked earnestly at Klink. "I was standing right beside Colonel Hogan, supervising."

"And letting them dump all that snow on top of my head. Dummkopf! I could have contracted pneumonia." He shook his fist in Schultz's face.

"But you didn't, Herr Kommandant." Schultz smiled. "Doktor Falke was there, and she got you into bed just in time."

"So, you see, Herr Kommandant, those men could not have been at the factory at the time they were here."

"But Fraulein Schnittel said two black prisoners and their guard came from Stalag Nine to paint the director's quarters, and their descriptions match Kinchloe, Simms and Schultz."

"Kommandant, are you going to believe your own eyes and those of the good doctor here? Or are you going to believe the ravings of a woman who probably killed her lover and who was caught near the factory when it blew up. I bet the next thing she said was that she saw me there."

"Well, she was seen that day with an S.S. Gruppenfuehrer who resembled you." Klink looked Hogan over thoughtfully. Schultz gulped. Doktor Falke clutched her gloves tight in her hand.

Klink came to a decision.

"No. It could not have been you. Or them. The Gruppenfuehrer left the office in Fraulein Schnittel's company and the other three men never left the office at all, except under heavy guard. How could they have blown up the plant? Doubtless, the woman is covering up her own crime with some far fetched story."

"And of course Fraulein Doktor Falke saw the prisoners outside your quarters, shovelling snow, with me there as well, supervising them," Schultz pointed out.

"You'll verify that, Fraulein Doktor?"

"Of course, Herr Kommandant. But the Gestapo won't need my word when your own carries so much influence. After all, with your eagle eyes, you must have seen Sergeant Schultz and the men who dumped the snow over you."

Klink looked doubtful, and a little frightened.

"The only alternative is that you permitted your guard and two or three of your prisoners to blow up a vital factory."

Klink now looked only frightened.

"And since you saw them here, and I saw them here, and Sergeant Schultz said he was supervising them here, they must have been here."

"Ja. Ja. You are right, Fraulein Doktor. Fraulein Schnittel is only one voice against six." The Kommandant waved his hand in dismissal. "Go tend to Carter's bellyache, Fraulein Doktor, and let me tend to my paperwork."

The two men saluted Klink. Schultz held the door open. Hogan cupped his hand under Doktor Falke's elbow. Together, the two men escorted her outside the Kommandantur and across the compound to Barracks Two.

Schultz winked at Doktor Falke, gently punched Colonel Hogan's arm and let them enter the barracks without him.

Colonel Hogan looked her up and down. "What a cool liar you are, Marlena Falke."

Doktor Falke gave him a little smile. "I could not let them hang you, could I?"

The four men of Colonel Hogan's inner circle gathered around them. The colonel led them into his 'office' and shut the door.

"Fellas, I've decided that since Fraulein Doktor Maria Helena Falke is for better or worse one of us, she should be treated as one of us." He looked her straight in the eyes. "I'm lifting the ban on visits, but watch yourself and your tongue, Marlena Falke."

"And that goes for all of you," he added, looking around at the happy expressions on the faces of his men. "Hochstetter's stupid but nasty. With him on the prowl – well, even a look may put him onto us."

Marlena smiled. "I'll remember, Colonel Hogan. Thank you."

"And we won't let her forget. No, sir!" Carter put his arm around Doktor Falke's waist and, to her surprise, suddenly kissed her on her lips. She blushed crimson.

"How does he rate, Doktor?" Kinch laughed.

She smoothed down her skirt, but couldn't hide the dimples in her flushed cheeks. "On par with you and Corporal Newkirk. I have no favourites."

"That is because I have not yet kissed you," said Corporal LeBeau, doing just that. "Well, ma chére?"

Doktor Falke assumed an air of indifference, but she blushed even redder.

"You need a standard for comparison, Marlena." Colonel Hogan took her in his arms and gave her a long, lingering kiss that left her breathless and weak in the knees. "Well?" he asked as he released her.

Kinch caught and held her against his chest until she recovered. "Not bad, Colonel Hogan," she replied.

"Not bad?!? Is that all you can say?!?"

She looked up at Kinch, squeezing his hand as he quirked a sceptical eyebrow down at her. "Adequate. Perhaps a little overdone. Would you not agree?"

Colonel Hogan smiled. "Perhaps." Cupping her face in his hands, he gave her a gentler kiss. "Happy New Year, Doctor Pacifist."

"Happy New Year, Colonel Hogan," Doktor Falke gently replied.

LeBeau touched Newkirk's sleeve. They left the office. The others heard excited voices in the common room. They gathered at the door. Newkirk was seating Schultz at the head of the mess table while LeBeau was hustling Sergeant Olsen and Corporal Simms to get all the glasses and mugs together.

Then LeBeau took from a hiding place a couple of bottles of wine. He glanced at Colonel Hogan. The colonel nodded his permission. LeBeau decanted the wine.

"Aged two weeks. Take care how you drink it."

Newkirk pulled a small brass plaque from beneath his pillow. He offered it to his commanding officer. Colonel Hogan shook his head and smiled.

"It was your idea to liberate it, Newkirk. You give it to him."

The English corporal lowered his eyes. Caught in a good action, he felt suddenly shy. He passed the plaque to Schultz. "A Christmas present from us, Schultzie."

"My grandfather Gunther's brass plaque." Schultz whispered in awe. He looked at Newkirk with tears in his eyes. "Thank you, Corporal Newkirk." LeBeau patted his massive shoulder as he gave him a glass of the wine. Schultz looked at him gratefully, then at the men around the room. "Thank you, LeBeau. Carter. Sergeant Olsen. Corporal Simms. Sergeant Kinchloe. Colonel Hogan." He looked down sadly at the plaque.

Colonel Hogan laid his hand on the big German's shoulder. "It will live again, Schultz. You will bring it back to life."

"Will I, Colonel Hogan? I let them take it."

Kinch cleared his throat. "You had no choice, Schultz. But the colonel's right. You will bring it back."

"You must bring it back, mon ami," said LeBeau softly. "And you will bring it back, after the war."

"All the children of Germany will need toys, as much as they will need the love that gives them," said Doktor Falke, "and the care that makes them."

"I've never known you to turn your back on the children," Carter encouraged him. "Did Newkirk risk our lives for nothing, to get that for you?"

"Our lives and a crack on the jaw," Colonel Hogan rubbed it theatrically as he exchanged a look and smile with Kinch.

"So that was why you fought each other." Schultz shook his head. "That had puzzled me." He roused himself, stood and lifted his glass. "Then I must bring it back. 'To the Schatze Toy Company.'"

"The finest toy company in Germany."

"In every sense of the word."

**Epilogue:**

The Schatze Toy Company resumed production in a small rented half-bombed building in Heidelburg in late October 1945. Hans Schultz had lost a considerable fortune but he made sure that many orphaned and homeless children in Germany had a doll or a stuffed toy animal to hug that Christmas and in the Christmases to come. By 1948, the factory was largely rebuilt, thanks in part to the efforts and investment of several former Allied prisoners of war and former colleagues of Herr Schultz, including Karl Langenscheidt and Wilhelm Klink. It would never again be the largest toy factory in Germany but by Christmas 1950, it again set the standard of excellence.

The plaque Newkirk 'liberated' hung in a place of honour in the new offices, under a new Schatze logo: a phoenix, clutching a trumpet in its talons, rising from a bush of blood red roses.

One of the first Schatze toys exported to the United States in 1946 was a small stuffed toy lion, a gift to James Thomas ("Jik") Harris, infant son of Thomas and Jessica (Kinchloe) Harris.


End file.
